


And All For The Want Of A Horseshoe Nail

by underwaterattribute



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, I'll also put it in the end notes if you must know in advance, M/M, No mpreg, Omega Verse, Pining, everyone is changed by magic, this fic takes place instead of the S01E06 Rare Species, who is alpha and who is omega is a surprise, you can figure it out as the characters do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:42:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28361112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underwaterattribute/pseuds/underwaterattribute
Summary: The result of one miscast spell causes Geralt and Jaskier to make a series of different choices, that lead to some small, and not so small, changes.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 94
Kudos: 262





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place as something that happens instead of Rare Species. Huge thanks to [SassyTeaSnob](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyTeaSnob/pseuds/SassyTeaSnob/) for helping me beta this fic, and helping me every time I have gotten stuck, and to Sweetie from the Omegawatch discord for helping me give it a plot. Sweetie- I decided to use both the names you suggested, because this story is turning out so long that it’s almost two stories. I’ve used one name earlier on for a very minor character, and will use the other name later on for a less minor character.

Geralt cursed as the endrega swung it’s sharp foreleg. It caught him on the thigh, leaving a line of hot pain in its wake. Before it could strike again, he hit it with a blast of igni and it reared back, shrieking. With a grunt of effort, Geralt lunged forward, aiming at the creature’s abdomen, sword sinking in, and at last, piercing a vital organ. It sank to the leaf covered ground, and Geralt let himself collapse, taking the weight off the leg that was still screaming at him. He would pry his sword out of the corpse of the endrega, collect his payment, bathe, do all the things that still needed to be done, just in a moment, just as soon as he caught his breath. He looked up at the pattern the sunlight made as it filtered through the leaves above him, and as it grew dim, felt a sharp pang of regret that he hadn’t brought more Swallow with him. 

***

When Geralt next opened his eyes, the angle of the sun had not changed, and the corpse next to him was still undisturbed. He sat up abruptly, scanning the forest around him for movement, some sign of what had happened, and found nothing. After a moment of listening intently, all he heard were the usual noises that indicated a perfectly ordinary forest. Cautiously he levered himself to his feet, and tested his weight on his damaged leg. It was less than ideal, but would last him long enough to get back to Roach, which was enough. 

Once his evidence of the kill was strapped to Roach’s back, Geralt hauled himself into the saddle and turned her head towards the village, thinking longingly of a meal and a hot bath. As he approached the outskirts, he wrinkled his nose. Perhaps it was simply spending some time away from people, or perhaps it was whatever that had caused him to lose consciousness, but the stink of too many unwashed people was more unpleasant than usual. 

When he reached the village, he dismounted Roach and limped towards the alderman’s house, and the sound of a large, frightened crowd reached him long before he arrived, what must have been the entire village crowded around the entrance. By the time Geralt could finally see the building, people were recoiling from him, the stink of their fear even stronger in his nose than usual. He could hear Jaskier’s voice, shrill with alarm, and finally glimpsed him through the crush of bodies, pressed into the rough stone wall of the alderman’s house by a guard’s rough shove.

“He’s a witcher, not a sorcerer! One that _you_ hired, might I add!” Geralt could not hear the guard’s response over the angry shouts of the crowd, but Jaskier continued, “Of course he’s not back yet, there was a whole nest of those things. I’m sure once he is back, he’ll be able to shed some light on whatever caused- Geralt!” Jaskier squirmed out from between the guard’s restraining arm and the wall, and slipped through the crowd towards Geralt, aided by the villagers’ reluctance to approach him. 

The alderman, who had only begrudgingly hired him in the first place, after half a dozen men had been sent into the forest to rid them of the endrega had never returned, puffed up like a particularly threatened toad. “How dare you show your face here again, after what you did!”

Geralt came to halt, while Jaskier hovered near the severed forelimb of the endrega. “What, exactly, did you do, Jaskier?” He asked, twisting to see him, “When I left you were only going to secure lodgings for the night.”

Jaskier jerked his hand away from the pointed end of the forelimb and gave him a wounded look, “How dare- How- When have I ever- I am insulted, honestly. Of all the things to accuse me of!”

“Jaskier,” he growled, impatient, and not willing to risk the limited goodwill of the crowd.

“I did nothing!” Jaskier huffed, “I was merely performing, for a rather ungrateful audience, mind you, when everything got rather dark, and I woke on a disgustingly sticky floor. As did everyone else over the age of around fifteen.” He flung out his arm as though to illustrate. 

“And now, witcher,” the alderman interrupted, “You undo whatever dark magics you have cast on us.”

“I have done nothing more than what you agreed to pay me for.” Geralt tensed and shifted his weight to be better able to pull Jaskier with him and flee. A group this agitated took very little to turn into a mob. “I will take what I am owed and be on my way.”

“Lies!” A woman hidden in the crowd shouted. “Undo what you have done to us!”

Jaskier stepped forward, hands held up in front of him, “Good woman, I assure you, my friend has done nothing to you.”

Geralt pulled Jaskier back by the collar of his doublet before he could move closer to the crowd, and absently noted that he must have purchased some kind of new fragrance in the hours Geralt had been on his hunt. It was much more subdued than his usual choices of scent, lightly woody and pleasant, but Geralt drew his thoughts back to the angry crowd surrounding them. 

“If he has done nothing, then why did we suddenly pass out, and start to smell as a witcher does? What are you trying to do to us?” The alderman demanded.

“I have done nothing,” Geralt gritted out, but slowly, telegraphing every move, pulled himself back into the saddle and let the evidence of his kill fall to the ground. It was clear he wasn’t going to be paid for this job. Once he was seated, he reached a hand down to Jaskier. They were likely going to need to make a quick exit, and would not be able to move fast enough with Jaskier still on foot. 

Jaskier gave his hand a rather disdainful look. “Honestly, I know I have asked to ride Roach in the past, however, while you are covered in blood and,” he delicately touched a spot of the gelatinous yellow slime that had splattered on Geralt when he destroyed the endrega’s cocoons, before wiping it off on Roach’s saddle blanket, “Whatever that is, is not what I meant.”

Geralt urged Roach to turn, so that they were facing the road, rather than the dead end of the alderman’s house, and a villager took his moment of distraction as an opportunity to throw a rock. It hit Roach on her hindquarters and she pinned her ears to her head and lifted her forelegs off the ground. It was all Geralt could do to prevent her from bolting. “Jaskier, get up here.” With an alarmed look at the crowd, Jaskier finally seemed to realise the danger they were in, and let Geralt haul him up behind the saddle. 

As soon as Jaskier was settled, Geralt urged Roach into a gallop, taking advantage of the space left around them to gather speed.The villagers scattered around them, more rocks now being thrown. One rock made a sharp sound as it bounced off the lute fastened to Jaskier’s back, and caused Jaskier to cling tighter around Geralt’s waist as he exclaimed in indignation, and Roach sped past buildings. 

Although they quickly left the village behind, Geralt waited until it was out of sight before easing Roach down to a walk. It was only good fortune that he had not removed Roach’s saddlebags before the hunt, expecting it to take much longer to find the nest than it had. They would have been in more dire straits than simply losing out on payment for one job if they had lost all their gear. 

Once they had slowed to a walk, Jaskier relaxed enough to pull back a little, and exclaimed in dismay at the state of his clothes. 

“Ugh, this is revolting. And the smell! If those villagers are right, and this is how well witchers smell, how can you stand to let yourself become as filthy as you do?” Geralt grunted, and let Jaskier continue his griping. “Though honestly, I rather doubt that they’re right about anything. Do you know what they were saying? They thought you were somehow turning them into monsters for you to hunt. Ungrateful bastards, the lot of them, as though you didn’t just save them from being hunted.”

Jaskier rarely required an answer to his talking, and Geralt let the sound of it wash over him as they rode. It was not safe for them to stop anywhere near the village, and they continued until it began to grow dark. Finally, he heard a river nearby and turned Roach’s head towards it, hoping to find a suitable place to stop for the night that was out of sight of the road. It didn’t take long to find a clearing a short walk from the river, and in short order Jaskier was gathering firewood while Geralt rubbed down Roach and checked her over for injuries. By the time Geralt had finished looking Roach over, Jaskier had the fire going and was laying out the bedrolls. 

“Oh hohoho, oh no, if you think I’m letting you anywhere near these before you clean that off you, you have another thing coming.” Jaskier pointed accusingly at Geralt. 

Geralt grunted, and headed towards the river. The slime had mostly dried by then, but it had not improved the smell any, and he had no desire to stay coated in it any longer than he had to. He peeled the crusty clothes off and strode into the freezing water, scrubbing vigorously, and regretted not bringing a bar of soap with him. By the time he was finally clean and dressed, the forest’s nighttime sounds surrounded him, and he gathered his soiled clothing and armour to deal with when it was light. 

Geralt limped into the clearing, wet hair dripping into his collar, and Jaskier looked up from where he was sitting near the fire. 

“Only some hard tack and stale bread, I’m afraid. It’s all we have left.”

Geralt grunted, and settled down next to him. Jaskier had changed out of his soiled clothes, and must have applied more of whichever new scent he had bought in town, because Geralt could smell it even more clearly than he had earlier. They ate in companionable silence for a while, and Geralt could not help but draw in deep breaths occasionally to enjoy the smell coming from Jaskier. He was so absorbed in eating and savouring the new, woody fragrance coming from the bard that he didn’t notice Jaskier breathing deeply as well, or that Jaskier had started shifting restlessly. 

Eventually, Jaskier burst out, “You’ve been limping, since your hunt.”

“Just a cut on my thigh. It’s fine.” Geralt took another bite of the bread.

Jaskier made an irritated noise. “I’ll be the judge of that. You always say it’s fine, even when it’s very much not fine.”

Geralt waved him off, “Doesn’t even need stitches. I rinsed it out in the river, it’s _fine_.”

“No, nope, show me, come on, quicker you let me fix you up, the quicker you can go back to your meal.”

Geralt shoved the last of his food into his mouth, and chewed obnoxiously.

Jaskier huffed, “Fine, then the quicker I’ll let you rest. Come on, trousers off.”

With only a little more grumbling, Geralt shoved down his trousers far enough for Jaskier to see the cut, “See, it’s fine. Be healed in a couple of days.”

Jaskier kept his eyes fixed on the injury, and hovered his hands over it, as though he wanted to touch, but didn’t quite dare. “You’re sure it doesn’t need a salve?” Geralt was struck once again by how much he liked Jaskier’s new fragrance.

“When did you find the time to get a new soap?” Jaskier asked, leaning in towards Geralt. 

“I didn’t. Forgot to bring soap with me to the river, even.” 

“Fine, don’t tell me. It’s nice, though.” Jaskier finally pulled back, and Geralt mourned the loss of the contact as he pulled his clothes back into place. It had been nearly twenty years, and he was still surprised every time Jaskier would casually touch him, without fear or disgust. He dreaded the day Jaskier had enough of sleeping rough and never having two coins to rub together, and finally realised he was wasting his life following a witcher around. 

After some more staring into the fire, Jaskier spoke again, “What do you think caused it? Some sort of magic, obviously, but what?” He rubbed at his nose and continued, “All those smells made me understand why you don’t like staying in towns.”

Geralt hummed, “No kind of monster I know of does anything like that, so probably a mage.”

“What could they possibly be trying to achieve, heightening an entire village’s sense of smell like that? And knocking everyone out.” Jaskier poked a stick into the fire, shifting a log deeper into the flames.

“No way of knowing. And it was more than just the village. Whatever it was got me too, just after I finished killing the last endrega.”

“Your sense of smell is heightened, too? Even more than usual, I mean?”

Geralt cocked his head, “Only when I’m smelling people. I can’t smell other things more than usual.”

“Small mercies,” Jaskier grinned at him, “Imagine if you could smell _everything_ even more. You’d never be able to bear going near civilisation ever again. The chamber pots alone!” Jaskier hummed thoughtfully, “Although, now that you mention it, I’m not noticing the smells of other things any more than usual. Just people.”

They turned in early that evening, both exhausted after such a long day. They had not been asleep for long before Geralt was woken again by a sudden weight across his ribs. Jaskier had rolled in his sleep until he was snug against Geralt’s back, arm flung across him and nose pressed to the base of his neck, under his hair. Ordinarily, Geralt would roll Jaskier back into his own bedroll, but the warmth was oddly pleasant, and his arm tucked around him was a soothing weight, and Geralt was asleep again before he could do more than huff a little in indignation.

***

In the morning they headed west, towards a town Jaskier had heard rumours of being plagued by some sort of monster in the river. When they made it to town several days later, Geralt headed directly to the notice board, while Jaskier peeled off and headed for the inn, to see if he could find an audience. Without the payment for the endrega hunt, they didn’t have enough money to get so much as a meal for each of them, and desperately needed money to restock their supplies. 

The notice board had a contract for something that had been killing the local fisherman, most likely a drowner. Geralt pulled the details from the board and went to find out if Jaskier had managed to secure lodgings for them, or if they would be sleeping in the woods again that night. 

He had fully expected to arrive and find Jaskier already performing, but when he walked through the door, it was to find Jaskier arguing with the proprietor of the inn. 

“How dare you! I do not stink! And for you of all people to be accusing me of smelling bad, when you, sir, are so offensive to the nose, is, is, is-” Jaskier seemed at a loss for words. 

Geralt interrupted, “Are we going to be sleeping here, or not?”

The innkeeper gave Jaskier a disdainful look, before turning to Geralt. “If he bathes, and performs for at least an hour, then you can stay.”

They turned to head upstairs, Jaskier absently smoothing his hand down Geralt’s back and muttering to himself, “ _Un_ believable! As if he wasn’t the one stinking up the place.” Geralt thought Jaskier was being rather dramatic, as the innkeeper had been wearing something similar to Jaskier’s own fragrance, only the innkeeper's fragrance had notes of pine, rather than cedar. Jaskier continued, “And really, it’s not like it hasn’t been just as long since you bathed.” He frowned, “Although, you actually smell rather pleasant, still. Must be some good soap you bought.”

Geralt sighed, “I didn’t get any new soap.” Jaskier was so insistent that he was using a new soap, and it was getting irritating. 

Geralt lingered downstairs while Jaskier performed, slowly drinking an ale that was all they could afford, unless the audience decided to be generous. He was reaching the bottom of his mug when a plate of food was put in front of him. He looked up at the innkeeper who had brought it, “Didn’t order that.” They could not afford to be run out of town over a bill they could not hope to pay.

The innkeeper patted him on the shoulder, “On the house. Since you’ll be getting rid of those monsters in the river, in the morning.”

Geralt grunted, but readily tucked into the food. It wasn’t often that anyone was so generous. Until Jaskier had started writing songs about him, it hadn’t happened at all. Geralt was still finishing the food when Jaskier took a break in his set and slid onto the bench next to him, leaning heavily on his shoulder and swiping what was left of his ale. 

“The crowd’s not too bad tonight. Even if your hunt doesn’t turn up anything, we’ll be able to buy some of the things we’ve run out of.”

Geralt hummed and let Jaskier take the last piece of bread. 

Dealing with the drowners was the work of only a few hours, and before the sun had reached its height, Geralt was standing in front of the local alderman with proof of his kill. He was refreshingly willing to pay the promised fee without argument, and in short order Geralt was turning to leave, when the alderman called out to him.

“Witcher! I have another job for you, if you’ll take it.” The alderman shifted uneasily from where he stood.

Geralt turned back to him, and waited for him to elaborate. 

The old man licked his lips nervously, “Three days ago, a curse was cast on this village. We do not yet know what the sorcerer wants, but the curse caused all those who are full grown to lose consciousness, and when we regained our senses, we were,” he hesitated, “Changed. We can smell things we should not be able to. I now know who is coming into the room by their _scent_.” He hefted a pouch of coins, larger than the one he had just paid Geralt in exchange for killing the drowners that had been plaguing them. “I will pay you well, if only you find who did this, and deal with them, break the curse, if you can.”

Geralt sighed, “The curse was much larger than only this village. Another, three days ride of here, was affected too. If I find the perpetrator, I will deal with them gladly, and take you up on your offer, since I am as affected as you are. I do not hold much hope of that, however.”

The alderman swore, “I could not have begun to suspect that the curse was so far reaching. What could their aim possibly be?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, at this point.” Geralt shrugged, and turned to leave again.

When he walked into the inn, Jaskier abandoned his performance. 

“Geralt! You’re back!” Jaskier swung his lute over his shoulder and swanned over to meet Geralt by the door. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“I’m fine.” Geralt ignored Jaskier’s hovering and ordered a bath brought to their room. 

“How many times must we have this conversation, that’s what you say _every time_ , Geralt. ‘I’m fine.’You say that when you have gaping wounds that would kill a human.” Jaskier waved his arms in a way Geralt presumed was intended to illustrate his point, but mostly looked like he was trying to conduct an invisible band.

“And I’m still here, so I was fine every time.”

Jaskier made a wounded noise, and followed him up the stairs.“Geralt! There are shades of nuance between ‘not dead’, and ‘fine’. You are not to be trusted, on this matter.”

Geralt rolled his eyes, “Check, if you must, but I haven’t got so much as a strained muscle, this time.”

Jaskier did not let up his fussing until Geralt was settled in the bath and he had begun scrubbing himself. He paused his restless roaming and looked at Geralt thoughtfully.

“You really don’t have a new soap, do you?”

“No, for the tenth time, I do not have a new soap.” Geralt glared up at him through his loose hair.

Jaskier pursed his lips thoughtfully, “Do you think maybe whatever it was didn’t make our sense of smell stronger, but actually changed the way we smell?” 

Geralt cocked his head, “Did you purchase a new fragrance recently?”

“Noooo,” Jaskier drawled out, “No I did not.”

“Then yes, I think that might be exactly what happened.”

***

They set out the next day, with no destination in mind and with no particular urgency. They followed the river, and by the time the sun was setting had made it to a town large enough that it had paved roads and more than one inn. It was too late for Geralt to go looking for a hunt, but just in time for Jaskier to charm his way into performing for the night, promising to draw a crowd, and earning them a discounted room if he was successful. 

After getting Roach settled in the stables and depositing their bags in the inn, Geralt returned to the tavern and found a seat near the back of the room. He watched as Jaskier effortlessly brought the room under his spell without the slightest bit of magic. For all that Geralt scoffed at Jaskier’s songs, he was a born performer. He almost seemed to glow under the attention, and kept the growing crowd enthralled as he moved from rowdy, fast paced songs to slower, more melancholy songs. Even Geralt, who had seen him perform more times than could remember, had trouble taking his eyes off him. 

Finally, after several encores, Jaskier bowed elaborately and headed to the bar to order himself a drink. As Geralt watched, one of the young men who had been in the audience approached and caught Jaskier’s attention with a light touch to his shoulder. Jaskier turned with a smile, and leaned in to listen to whatever the man was saying. As they spoke, the young man moved his stool closer to Jaskier’s, and leaned further into his space. Their conversation continued, with coy glances and more small touches. Geralt abruptly decided he was thirsty, and stood to order a drink. He pushed his way through the crowd and towards the bar, and if he happened to arrive there between Jaskier and the young man, that was only a coincidence. The room was so crowded that, even with his new sensitivity to how people smelled, he could barely make out Jaskier’s unique scent. Even so, as he leaned forward to order an ale, he noticed that Jaskier’s scent was partially obscured by that of the young man who was now glaring furiously at him. Jaskier did not seem to notice his former conversation partner’s anger, and had greeted Geralt with his usual delight, talking a mile a minute about how much money he had made with his performance, and what he intended to buy with it. 

After Geralt’s drink was brought over, he ran his hand down Jaskier’s arm to catch his attention, and told him, “I’m going to head back to the room. It’s getting late.” He wondered how it was that he hadn’t noticed just how soft that particular doublet was. It was no wonder Jaskier favoured clothes like those, if they felt like that. 

Jaskier nodded, and yawned, “I might join you, honestly. A set that long is exhausting.”

It was only as Jaskier stood that Geralt realised he had been smoothing his fingers over the silk at Jaskier’s cuff. 

Jaskier’s performance had afforded them only one room to share, with a single bed, although it was larger than some they had managed to squeeze into in the past. 

As Jaskier stripped down to his under shirt, Geralt caught a whiff of the young man who had been flirting with the bard on the doublet, and he wrinkled his nose. “That could do with a wash. So could most of our clothes. I’ll deal with them in the morning, if there isn’t a hunt.”

“One of the locals was talking about some sort of monster stalking the graveyard just outside of town,” Jaskier told him, while searching through his bag for something or other. 

Geralt grunted, “Probably some sort of necrophage. Can’t hunt those until dark, so I’ll still deal with the clothes tomorrow.”

***

The next morning, when Jaskier woke, it was to Geralt still deeply sleeping, head tucked under his chin and nose firmly pressed to his collarbone. While it wasn’t unusual for Geralt to sleep later than him, typically he only did it when he had been on a hunt the night before. Jaskier did not dare move, for fear of disturbing him, and he took the opportunity to soak in the feeling of being wrapped up together. He was well aware that there were not many people who’s presence Geralt would sleep so deeply in, and he treasured the trust he was being shown. When Geralt began to stir, sleep becoming more shallow, Jaskier extracted himself from the bed, not wanting the possibility of having to discuss how they had ended up sleeping. 

The morning passed peacefully, with Jaskier taking the opportunity to bring some order to their increasingly disorganised bags, while Geralt took a pile of their more pungent clothing to wash. It did not take Geralt long to find what must have been the usual place along the river to wash clothes, as there was a group of washerwomen gathered there, with their own small mountain of fabric. Over the course of the next hour or so, he learned all manner of local gossip, that whatever magic that had been cast had caused changes here as well, and that whatever monster Jaksier had heard about the night before had killed another person recently. 

As it grew dark, Geralt let Jaskier know that he would be at least a few hours dealing with what was most likely a gravier, and set off. 

***

It had been days since Jaskier had time to himself, and even longer since he’d had the opportunity to spend quality time with anyone else, and he felt that it was high time to treat himself. So, with Geralt out of the room for a decent length of time, Jaskier took the opportunity he was presented. By the time Geralt returned he would be able to have everything cleaned up as though nothing ever happened, with time to spare, even. As soon as Geralt was out the door, Jaskier had closed the curtains, made himself comfortable, and set about enjoying himself thoroughly.

The first problem he encountered was one of smell. Ever since the curse, or whatever it was, had happened, and everyone’s sense of smell had been enhanced, Geralt had been even more distracting than usual, and he had left his saddle bags, with all of their clothes, that smelt so strongly of himself, in the room they had rented. Even Jaskier’s clothes smelled like Geralt after being so recently washed. And Jaskier was many things, but he was not _quite_ so foolish as to actively fantasise about his good friend, and travel companion, whom he was quite tragically, and unrequitedly, in love with. And yet. Having that smell in the room made it impossible to think of anything else. 

So that was the first problem. The second problem was nothing nearly so predictable. Jaskier was nearing forty, and, as such, very familiar with his own body. He had thought the surprises in that area had passed when he had finally left puberty behind, barring a few twists and turns when he started being able to find partners. By forty years old, he had thought, there were no real surprises left, on that score. Which was why it was so very alarming when, just as things were getting very, _very_ good, his own anatomy surprised him anew. He was far too far along to simply _stop_ at that point, but the dramatic swelling at the base of his cock was definitely off putting.

The third problem was one of time. While it continued to feel, well, fucking amazing, it also _continued_ for. Well. He wasn’t sure how long, given that he was rather distracted, but he was well aware that it was far longer than such things usually took. And since he had been so sure he had plenty of time, he had begun in quite a leisurely manner. 

Which led to the fourth, and most pressing problem. 

“Jaskier, what the fuck?” Geralt did not seem inclined to move from the doorway, or even close the door, which Jakier would prefer _very much_ that he did. 

“I don’t _know_ ,” Jaskier wailed. 

Geralt finally seemed to come unstuck from the doorway, and stepped inside the room, closing the door behind him. Jaskier wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that. On one hand, there were a number of fantasies he pretended not to have that started in almost just this way. On the other hand, he was certain that things were not about to progress in the way they did in those fantasies, and were much more likely to take a very embarrassing turn. Unfortunately, the renewed intensity of Geralt’s smell, caused by his actual presence, was not helping make his erection go away.

“Would you put that away?” It was hard to tell, given that witchers could not blush, but Jaskier thought Geralt might be embarrassed.

“I can’t,” he said miserably, “It doesn’t fit.”

“It doesn’t-” Geralt turned towards Jaskier to look at him incredulously, before looking determinedly at the ceiling. “Jaskier, what the fuck is wrong with your cock?”

“I wish I knew. It’s never done this before.” Jaskier almost gestured helplessly, then jerked his hand back to futilely covering himself up. 

“Who did you piss off?” Geralt was still examining the ceiling.

“No one! Not recently, anyway. Not since last time I, you know.” For lack of hands to gesture with, Jaskier moved his elbows awkwardly. The one thing he could say about this conversation, was that at least the embarrassment was helping to deal with his problem. 

“We’re going to have to consult a mage about that, you do realise.” 

“I am not asking Yennefer about my malfunctioning cock.” Jaskier stated flatly.

“Your other option is to never have sex again.” Geralt pointed out.

“I am maybe asking Yennefer about my malfunctioning cock, if we don’t find any other mages in the meantime.” Jaskier conceded. 

Finally, Jaskier was able to pull his trousers back on, and wondered hysterically if there was any chance of Geralt spontaneously developing amnesia about the entire incident. Eventually he asked, “Do you think it has anything to do with that curse that affected everyone?”

Geralt looked at him dubiously, “What would _possibly_ be the connection between everyone suddenly smelling different and your cock developing a knot? It’s not like it has happened to anyone else.”

“Well I don’t know! It’s the only other strange thing that’s happened lately.” Jaskier ran his hand through his hair agitatedly, “And of course we’ve not heard about it happening to anyone else. I’m certainly not planning on _telling_ people.”

“You didn’t even wash that hand.” Geralt looked at him in disgust. “I hope you know you’re bathing before you come anywhere near me. And alright, maybe you’re not the only one, we really can’t know.”

***


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to post this yesterday and forgot, sorry! Also, I hope I have done Yennefer justice. I find her very difficult to write.

With no further work in that town, they moved on the next morning, continuing to follow the river, for lack of any other specific destination. The next village they came to was sadly less welcoming, and as they arrived, people crossed the street to avoid getting close to a witcher. Despite the less than warm reception, a messenger from the alderman arrived as they were ordering food in the tavern, to tell them that, “The witcher is required to discuss a contract.”

Geralt slowly looked the trembling man up and down and grunted, “Be there once I’ve eaten,” then turned away, seeming to dismiss him entirely.

Geralt took a certain amount of satisfaction in lingering over his meal and forcing the messenger, and by extension, the alderman, to wait. Eventually, though, he could no longer delay, and he left Jaskier to perform as he followed the nervous man out into the early evening dark. It was a short walk to the alderman’s relatively modest house near the crossroads of the only two streets in the village. 

When they arrive, the alderman greets the man who was sent to fetch Geralt with an affectionate shoulder clasp, “Tomas, your mother has dinner waiting for you upstairs, I will join you in a moment.” He waits until the young man has disappeared up the stairs, before turning to Geralt with a much more business-like demeanor. “Witcher, we have a monster for you to take care of. Our village has been placed under a spell that has lasted nearly a week, now.”

“Sounds like a witch, not a monster. What did the spell do?” Geralt hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary, but then, they had not been there long, and not all spells were obvious from the outside. 

“For nearly a week now, all the adults have been under a strange spell, that causes us to be able to tell each other apart by scent.”

“Hm. Yours is not the only village affected. And so far that is the only thing this spell has done.” Geralt amused himself with the thought of the alderman’s reaction if he mentioned Jaskier’s theory about his change being connected. 

The alderman huffed, “Of course we know we are not the only village affected, and that the change is seemingly minor, but who knows what that witch intends to do? For all we know, there are more changes coming, and we are sitting ducks.”

Geralt tipped his head, conceding his point, “And what makes you so certain your witch is the one responsible?”

The alderman crossed his arms, “She was seen acting suspiciously in the days before the spell was cast, she is a witch, and she has fled in the days since, is that not enough?”

Geralt had already thought that there was a chance of there being no true evidence of the witch’s involvement, and that response did nothing to ally his suspicions. “No. I need more details before I will act.”

The alderman lifted his chin, and raised his voice, “How dare you? The only point of you is to get rid of undesirables, so do your damn job!”

Geralt kept his voice level, “Even _if_ I were to take the job, I would need more information, so that I knew what I was dealing with.” He paused and gave the alderman an opportunity to tell him more. When he said nothing, Geralt continued, “If you have no more information to offer, I will be on my way.”

The alderman’s face darkened, “You _will_ rid us of that witch, or you will not leave this village alive.”

Geralt raised his eyebrows at that. “If you thought you could follow through on that threat, you wouldn’t need a witcher, you’d simply kill her yourself.” Geralt didn’t bother to stay to hear the response to that, and made his way swiftly back to the tavern. He and Jaskier would need to be out of town before the alderman was able to raise whatever sort of fighting force was available in such a small village. He regretted not getting the so called witch’s name, as he would not be able to warn her, but then, she most likely knew she was in danger and had fled for that very reason. 

When he made it back, Roach was still tied up outside the tavern, and he could hear the sound of Jaskier leading the half drunk patrons in a round of a moderately obscene song. Jaskier’s eyes flicked to the door as he entered, and Geralt gave a sharp jerk of his head towards the exit, before leaving again. Behind him, he heard Jaskier hastily wrapping up his performance, and the protests of his audience. 

While he waited, he untied Roach and leaned his head against her neck, “Sorry, girl. We’re in for a long, miserable night, I’m afraid.”

“Geralt?” Jaskier's voice came from the direction of the door, his scent coming closer. “What’s going on?”

“It seems they’ve found a scapegoat for whatever that magic was, and want me to track down and kill whichever unfortunate soul has raised their ire.”

“Ah,” Jaskier ran an hand down Geralt’s side, “And when you refused, he took exception?”

Geralt nodded and shifted his weight back towards the warmth he could feel coming from Jaskier. 

Jaskier sighed, “How far do you think we’ll have to travel before they give it up as a bad job?”

Geralt gathered up Roach’s reins and started walking. No point exhausting her further by riding. “Only an hour or two. It’s not like they have any trained soldiers among them. They’re farmers, for the most part.” 

Jaskier fell into place beside him. “It could be worse, I suppose. They could already be chasing us.”

***

It took several days to reach the next settlement, and fortunately it was a large town, with plenty of people eager to hear the great bard Jaskier play. Unfortunately, the surrounding area was perfectly lovely and entirely free of monsters for Geralt to kill. It left him at loose ends while Jaskier performed, and while he was able to spend the first day catching up on missed sleep and making small repairs to his gear, there was very little to occupy him after that. 

With all that time he now had, Geralt’s thoughts kept circling back to one topic. That even though he had told Jaskier that there was no way for them to know if he was the only one who had developed a knot, or if it was linked to the sudden change in everyone’s scent, there was, in fact, a way for them to know. There were, after all, two of them. He was sure Jaskier knew that as well, but was kind enough not to bring it up. Geralt couldn’t even begin to imagine how that conversation might go. He also could not deny that he was curious, and surely it was better to know _before_ he next had a partner?

So while Jaskier entertained his adoring crowd, Geralt made his excuses and stayed in their room, safe in the knowledge that Jaskier would be occupied for quite a while, and in the event that he was not occupied for long enough, well, it wasn’t like he hadn’t walked in on Jaskier in the exact same situation. 

He did not, at first, notice anything out of the ordinary. He thought that perhaps he had simply been overly generous with his use of the oil, and felt annoyed that clean up would take so much longer. As he continued, however, it became clear to him that oil was not the cause of the unusual sensation. 

He reached down between his legs, and touched the viscous, clear fluid. 

“What the fuck?” It did not appear to be what had happened to Jaskier, but then, he hadn’t been looking that closely, and perhaps he simply had not noticed, with everything else that was going on. 

By the time he was finished, he was lying in a much larger wet spot than usual, and contemplating burning the sheet, rather than trying to launder it discreetly. Geralt groaned. It looked like he was going to be having his own uncomfortable conversation with a mage, when they next came across one. 

***

When Jaskier came into the room, still high on the success of his performance, Geralt was already asleep on the bed, although, curiously, the sheets had been stripped off and bundled into a corner. There must have been something objectionable about them. Geralt shifted slightly in his sleep, and he got a glimpse of yellow eyes before the witcher let sleep take him again. 

Jaskier undressed, ready for sleep, but found he was still too amped up from his performance to settle, and did not want to disturb Geralt’s rest. He decided to use his restless energy productively, and sat down with his notebook and a quill, intending to work on his latest ballad. Instead, he spent far too long watching the slow rise and fall of Geralt’s chest. He was aware that it was a rare, precious thing, for Geralt to sleep so soundly in his presence. So far as he’d ever been able to tell, there was no one else who could enter the room while Geralt slept, and not have him alert and on guard. Perhaps the other wolf witchers, but certainly no one Jaskier had met. 

It had not escaped him that, since whatever spell it was that had changed everyone, they had both been more tactile with each other, more likely to reach out and touch, and to let those touches linger. And he could not help but be troubled by it, by the possibility that their actions were not their own, and that he was gaining something from Geralt that the man did not truly want him to have. The desire to be as close to Geralt as he dared was not a new one, but he had always been able to rein himself in, not cross any lines that would leave Geralt uncomfortable with his presence. Lately, though, it had seemed so natural to lay an arm across his waist as they slept, or to greet him with a hand on his shoulder, and it did not occur until much later that he should have kept the contact brief. 

The only comfort to him was that Geralt was doing much the same thing. Reaching out for him more often, and more openly, than ever before. If Jaskier’s impulses were not new, were simply an extension of existing desires, perhaps Geralt’s were too. Jaskier was aware that Geralt had some sort of soft feelings towards him. The witcher would not rescue him from his own folly nearly as often as he did, otherwise. The exact nature of those feelings, however, eluded him. The bard suspected that the exact nature of his feelings eluded Geralt, as well. Or rather, not eluded, that implied that Geralt made any effort whatsoever to understand his own emotions, when in fact he was almost comically resistant to examining the inner workings of his own mind. 

Jaskier gave the witcher a fond glance, and was distracted by the sight of a faint scar, right beside his bottom lip. He did not know how Geralt had acquired it, it had simply been there, already healed, one Spring when they had reunited. It was not a particularly prominent scar, barely there, except in just the right light. Jaskier had a sudden intense urge to find out what it felt like, would it be rough? Or a smooth, raised line? Or perhaps not detectable by touch at all. In an effort to distract himself, Jaskier dragged in a deep breath and finally noticed the smell in the room, the now ubiquitous scents that he associated with Geralt, yes, but also the unmistakable scent of arousal. 

His attention was dragged back to Geralt’s relaxed sprawl on the bed, and he gave a wry smile, “No wonder you didn’t stay downstairs tonight.”

***

A few days later, they set off again, with Jaskier’s coin purse much heavier, and Geralt well rested and potions stocked up. Jaskier might have liked to stay longer, but the locals had started to become hostile towards a witcher in their midst, and they both thought it better to leave before the townsfolk forced the issue.

“I still don’t understand what you’re holding against that barmaid.” Geralt shook his head in exasperation from where he was walking beside Roach. 

Jaskier huffed, defensive. “She just rubbed me the wrong way, is all. I don’t know.”

“You took offence to the smell of that leatherworker, too.” Geralt glanced at him from the corner of his eye to judge the bard’s reaction. It was truly unusual for Jaskier to not like most people on sight, and he hadn’t even _seen_ the leatherworker Geralt had bought Roach’s new reins from. 

“You’re no better!” Jaskier pointed at Geralt accusingly, “Alexandra is perfectly lovely, and I have no idea what she did to deserve the cold shoulder. You’re just lucky she believed me when I told her that witchers are always just like that, or she might have spat in your pie.”

Geralt scowled and looked away. He wasn’t sure what it was about the, honestly, perfectly friendly baker, that he did not like. He had also disliked the way the young man several towns ago had flirted with Jaskier in a similar way, and there was something significant in that, but Geralt could not quite put his finger on what. 

They walked in silence for a time, before Jaskier said, consideringly, “They didn’t actually smell _bad_. The leatherworker, and the barmaid. But they did smell similar, somehow. I can’t explain it.”

“Hm?” Geralt was well aware that Jaskier did not need any more prompting than that to elaborate.

Jaskier’s forehead was wrinkled in concentration, “I didn’t even mind the barmaid’s smell, not until she was handing over your ale.”

Geralt hummed in acknowledgement. “You know, you smell a fair bit like them both.”

Jaskier puffed up and spluttered, “I do not! I- You take that back, you- you-” Finally he shot Geralt an aggrieved look and settled down, although not without some dark muttering under his breath. 

Being Jaskier, he was unable to contain himself for long, and eventually continued, “You smell a bit like Alexandra, you know.” 

“What’s your point?” Jaskier didn’t always have a point to start with, but usually wound his way to one eventually.

“All the people who’s smell I liked, smelled like you, and you didn’t like them. And all the people whose smell you liked, smelled like me, and I didn’t like them. You don’t think it indicates some sort of secret, deep down, self loathing, do you?” Jaskier seemed a little troubled by the thought. 

Geralt snorted. “I doubt it.” Jaskier liked himself more than anyone else Geralt had ever met. It was, of course, offset by the way he also liked everyone _else_ more than anyone Geralt had ever met. It made him both deeply annoying, and deeply endearing. 

“Maybe it’s more like magnets. We’re drawn to our opposites, and repelled from those like us.”

“You didn’t dislike the barmaid’s smell until she gave me the ale, though.” Geralt countered.

Jaskier threw up his hands, “Well what’s your theory, then?” 

Geralt shrugged and tipped his head, conceding.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Jaskier said it so quietly that Geralt thought it likely he was not supposed to have heard it, and he turned his face towards Roach to hide the slight smile. 

***

They moved quickly through the next few villages, never stopping for more than a night, slowly winding their way north. In a small town near Visima a nervous looking farmer approached Geralt while he watched Jaskier perform. 

“Sir witcher, a moment?” The poor man was almost trembling in his boots as he approached, and Geralt shifted his attention to him. They hadn’t heard any rumours of monsters as they travelled, but for someone who was so clearly afraid to approach him, there must be something.

“You cannot, by now, be unaware of the curse that was inflicted upon the world.” He paused and looked nervously around the room, as if searching for support, “We believe we know the perpetrator.”

When he did not elaborate, Geralt prompted, “Explain.”

“There is a mage in Visima, who we have long known to be dangerous. Those who cross her often do not return, or if they do they are-” he paused and seemed to search for the right word, “changed.”

Geralt leaned back and hummed, “Describe her.”

“She is entirely ruthless in pursuing what she wants, and shows no mercy when she is crossed, whether it is intentional or not, and powerful enough that even others with magic cannot undo what she has wrought.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “A physical description would be more useful.”

The farmer flushed slightly, “Beautiful, dark hair, purple eyes. Terrifying beyond all reason.”

Geralt groaned and rubbed his forehead.

“I know it sounds unlikely, but I have seen her myself!” the farmer protested.

“No, I believe you. I know exactly who you’re talking about.”

Jaskier chose this moment to join the conversation, “Who are we talking about?”

“Yennefer.” Geralt groaned.

“Oh. I don’t want to be talking about Yennefer.”

“She’s in Visima, and he-” Geralt gestured to the farmer who was still lingering at the table, “-believes that she’s responsible for whatever that spell was.”

“And how do we know she isn’t?” Jaskier chuckled.

“Really, Jaskier? You want to possibly piss her off just before we ask her about-” Jaskier hurriedly cut Geralt off.

“Yes, yes, point made, and, really, I do doubt she is behind it. I mean, to what ends, really?” Jaskier slid on to the bench beside Geralt, forcing him to move across, so that Jaskier wouldn’t perch awkwardly in his lap. “There are many things one could say about Yennefer, but she is rather direct, isn’t she? Direct like a knife to the heart. If she wanted something she wouldn’t be faffing about with some strange spell that affects everyone, and does very little, as far as we can tell.”

The farmer tentatively interrupted the flow of Jaskier’s words, “Will you be taking the contract, then, sir witcher?”

“I very much doubt that she is responsible,” Geralt sighed, “but if she is, I will ensure she lifts it.” 

“I don’t suppose there are any other mages in Visima?” Jaskier asked.

The farmer replied apologetically, “Not so far as we are aware, or we’d not have waited for a witcher to pass through to ask for help.”

Jaskier grimaced, “No, of course not. Another mage being around would be far too convenient.”

***

It was only a moment's work to learn where Yennefer had been staying in the city, and in short order they were being escorted to the sitting room of the house that had apparently come into her possession. Jaskier wasn’t sure what sort of dealings she had done to acquire such a large, well appointed residence in a location like that, but he was quite sure he didn’t want to know. 

The sitting room was comfortable and well appointed, the kind of place that Jaskier would ordinarily be just as at home in as any back water tavern. And yet, he felt a deep sense of unease, which he put down to it being _Yennefer’s_ sitting room. Geralt was restless as well, roaming the room and unable to settle, but he put that down to the witcher’s usual discomfort with any place more built up than a small village. Despite knowing the likely cause for Geralt’s behaviour, it put Jaskier even more on edge, and as he passed close by where the bard was sitting, Jaskier reached out and caught his wrist, tugging him to a halt. Once he had him, Jaskier wasn’t quite sure what to do with him, and the point was moot when Yennefer swept into the room. Geralt’s attention was immediately focused on her. He may as well have ceased to exist, as far as Geralt was concerned, Jaskier thought bitterly. 

“Geralt. I should be more surprised that you’re here, but we just can’t seem to stop meeting.” She gave him a quick once over, “You seem to be doing reasonably well for yourself, anyway.” 

Geralt turned to face her completely, pulling his wrist from Jaskier’s grip as he did so, “Yennefer. You’re doing well for yourself as well.” He cleared his throat and shifted his weight, uncertain.

Geralt was so awkward when Yennefer was around it was almost painful to watch. Rather than watch them dance around each other any longer, Jaskier interrupted, “I’m doing well for myself as well!”

Yennefer cast him a disdainful look. “The crows have left their feet on you.”

He hadn’t really thought through interrupting their back and forth, had he? He hadn’t noticed any crows feet, but he hadn’t been looking for them either. “Well- well. Your jokes are. Old.”

Geralt was rolling his eyes, he could just tell, the nerve of him. 

Yennefer sighed. “As amusing as this is,” she clearly did not find the conversation amusing, “I have more important things to do. What do you want?”

“We were hoping for information, about that spell.” Geralt was hardly specific, but then, he didn’t really need to be. How many spells could he be asking about?

Yennefer made a sound of disgust, and poured herself a drink of some sort of golden liquor before letting herself flop down on an overstuffed chair, in what was probably the least graceful movement Jaskier had ever seen her make. “Some student in Ban Ard fucked up on a scale heretofore unknown to history. His teachers can’t even figure out what he was _trying_ to do, let alone all of the effects of what he actually did.” She took a sip of her drink, “He lived, but it’ll be at least another month before he wakes up enough to be questioned about it.”

Geralt sat too, shoulders brushing Jaskier’s as he did, “You should know, people are posting contracts for you. They think you’re behind it.”

“I’m flattered that they think I could do a working so large and be up and about right afterwards.” Yennefer did not seem concerned, but then, she didn’t really have reason to be. Geralt was by far the most dangerous person any of the local populace would be able to hire, and he clearly was not going to kill her. “What have you two been doing, anyway? You smell so much like each other I can’t tell you apart.”

Jaskier tilted his chin up dramatically, “You see, when you have a close companion you travel with, you spend a lot of time together. I’m aware that you would be unfamiliar with the concept.”

Yennefer narrowed her eyes at him and answered arily, “Of course. When I travel, I do so with a modicum of class.”

Geralt looked at the ceiling as though searching for patience, “Thanks, Yen.”

She gave the witcher what might, if seen in the correct lighting, have been a look of apology before changing the subject, “We probably ought to exchange notes on the effects of the spell, in case you’ve noticed anything new.”

Geralt hummed and tipped his head towards her.

“I suppose it was overly optimistic to think I’d get actual words out of you, or anything of use out of the bard.” Before Jaskier could do more than draw breath to protest she cut him off. “Obviously there’s the smells. Ban Ard has decided to call everyone not affected betas, because this is all going to get far too confusing if we don’t have a name for all of this shit.”

“And all of us poor bastards who are affected?” Jaskeir asked.

“They’ve decided that we’re all alphas and omegas, but good luck getting a straight answer out of them as to who is who.” She smiled sardonically, “If you thought groups of mages were obnoxious, you should see all of Ban Ard and Aretuza now that half of them have become even more territorial than usual.”

“Only groups?” Jaskier asked, mock innocently.

Geralt shot him a glare and asked, “There was an innkeeper a few towns back who didn’t want to let Jaskier stay. Is that what you mean by being territorial?”

“Mm, yes, and territorial over people. It was amusing to watch, until I realised I was doing it too.” Yennefer’s lips thinned, “Having the both of you here, smelling like you do, makes me want to kick both of you out and have everything deep cleaned. I’m only grateful there are no people I’ve become attached to like that. Bad enough that it’s making me more likely to cater to someone who smells nice.”

“I’ve noticed,” Geralt began haltingly, “I’ve noticed that we’re both more likely to seek out touch.”

Yennefer put down her empty glass and said, “I’ll ask around and find out if that’s common.”

As much as Jaskier didn’t want to ask Yennefer about his recent changes, and he really, really didn’t, it would be worse to wait until they ran across some other mage. He cleared his throat, “Are there any, ah, physiological changes that you are aware of?”

Yennefer smirked and leaned back, “A number of them. Which are you referring to?”

“How about you tell us the ones you know of.” Jaskier countered.

“Oh no, but this way is _much_ more amusing.”

“Yen. Please.” Geralt’s pleading voice caused Yennefer to pause, and Jaskier turned to him in surprise. Geralt rarely intervened between the two of them, deeming it far too hazardous to his own wellbeing. Jaskier rapidly came to the conclusion that Geralt must have noticed some other changes as well, and kept them entirely to himself, whatever they were. 

Yennefer softened, “Among women, only half have any physical changes that we’re aware of, and they only become apparent during sex. Let’s just say that I don’t need any toys to help if I want to peg someone any more.” 

She sent Geralt a slight smirk, and he buried his face in his hands. Jaskier was sure that if witchers were capable of blushing his face would be bright red. 

“I’m quite sure, however, you’re most interested in the changes Ban Ard have reported?” 

Face still hidden, Geralt jerked his head in what might, if one were being generous, be taken for a nod. Jaskier did not dare speak, in case Yennefer decided she would rather hold the information back, just to spite him.

“Half of the men have reported, and I quote, ‘sudden dramatic swelling at the base of the penis upon climax, which lasts for five to ten minutes’,” she paused, “Which I take to mean they now have a knot, like a dog. Most of the other half do not report anything, but a few brave souls have admitted to getting wet, like a woman does.” She smiled a little, “I think it’s safe to say that the others simply are not admitting to it.”

Geralt had slowly let his hands drop as Yennefer spoke, but still was not meeting her eyes, and Jaskier stood abruptly, placing himself slightly between the two. 

“Well. On that rather awkward note, we should be going.” He brushed his still entirely clean hands off on his trousers and turned to Geralt, “We were going to be leaving tomorrow, weren’t we?”

Geralt nodded and stood to leave with him. As they reached the doorway, Yennefer called out, “Come see me in the morning before you leave. There are more details I need, but I may have a job for you.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We get to see some more of Yen, and Geralt slowly gets more and more irritable.

The next morning, Jaskier went to check in on various acquaintances he had in the city, while Geralt went to meet with Yennefer. The streets were overwhelming, the clamour of the people surrounding him an assault on his senses, as well as the smell of so many different bodies so close together. There were far too many people for Geralt to keep track of any one person in the crush, and he had to hold himself tightly controlled to not give in to the urge to retreat back to their room at the inn. 

He put his inability to cope with the crowd down to lack of sleep. It had taken hours for him to be able to settle, the thin walls of the inn leaving him feeling exposed and unable to relax his guard enough for sleep. He had finally drifted off in the wee hours of the morning, when, in his sleep, Jaskier had rolled over and hauled him into an embrace, forcing his head down onto the bard’s chest. Given little other choice, he had focused on Jaskier’s heartbeat and scent and was able to filter out the rest of the city long enough to sleep. When he woke in the morning, sheets still smelling of Jaskier, he took a moment to mourn how much he was going to miss nights like that when Jaskier inevitably left, either by choice or by death. 

Regardless of the reason for it, Geralt still had to duck into a smaller side street halfway to Yennefer’s house to gather himself, and, in order to not draw attention to himself, he entered one of the shops. The interior was soothingly dim, and the sounds were not quite as loud once the door was shut behind him. The small shop was filled with neatly piled fabric, bolts of cloth, simple, yet sturdy clothes, and blankets. A woman stood in the back of the shop, still lingering over her morning meal. The smell of her porridge reached him at the same time as her scent, pleasant and comforting. 

He ran his hands over the fabrics, stalling for time before he had to face the crowded streets again. As he was about to leave, finally feeling prepared to face the city again, his fingers brushed over a blanket and lingered there for long moments. The colour was unremarkable, simple undyed wool, but the texture was so soft he could not bring himself to stop touching it. 

He stood there so long that the woman finished her food and wandered over. “Nice, isn’t it? My niece made it, one of the first things she made by herself.”

Geralt reluctantly drew his hand back. “It’s lovely.” As much as he liked it, he could not justify the expense, when he did not truly need a new blanket.

The woman bit her lip. “Tell you what, because there’s no dye on it, it’s been sitting there for far too long. So, I’ll give you a deal. Half price, and if anyone asks who made it, you send them here.”

A short time later, Geralt was on his way again, blanket rolled tightly and tucked securely into a bag for easy transport. He resisted reaching in to run his hands over it as he was left to wait in Yennefer’s sitting room for the second time. 

Yennefer swept in after a short wait, and breathed in deeply. She made a sound of disgust, “The bard isn’t even here and I _still_ can’t tell which smells are yours and which are his.” She settled on the other end of the sofa he had chosen. 

“Does it matter, Yen?” he asked, impatient.

“No, but it’s definitely interesting. As is an effect of the spell that neither of you mentioned. And I rather think it’s because you haven’t noticed.” The smile she gave him had layers of meaning he could not hope to unravel, and he dismissed it. 

“What do you mean?” Yennefer had a tendency to treat every interaction as a competition, and while it could be thrilling, sometimes Geralt found it exhausting. 

“Most people have reported suddenly being attracted to people they aren’t ordinarily attracted to.” Yennefer watched him closely, most likely to gauge his reaction, “Old friends who are suddenly more alluring, or old flames who are suddenly not appealing at all.” 

Geralt watched her blankly. He had not noticed anything of the sort, and they had not stayed in any towns long enough to hear gossip on the topic, either. 

“It’s interesting,” Yennefer pressed on, “Because if you haven’t noticed it, then it rather narrows down which of the two smells on you is yours.” Yennefer leaned forwards, violet eyes still watching him carefully.

“Are you going somewhere with this?” Geralt didn’t know what Yennefer was looking for, and he was beginning to lose patience with whatever game she was playing.

Yennefer laughed, “I can’t decide if you actually haven’t noticed, or if you’re choosing not to acknowledge it.” She sat back, and seemed to let the topic go. “I contacted Aretuza and Ban Ard. They’ve finally decided which group of people are alphas and which are omegas.” She rolled her eyes, “They must have finally decided they’d had enough of trying to figure out what everyone else was talking about, and come to an agreement.”

Geralt hummed, encouraging her to continue.

“I’m an alpha, which means, since you are still watching me like _that_ , you are most likely an omega.” She wrinkled her nose, “Unfortunately, since you smell so strongly of the bard, I can’t tell for sure. You reek.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. It was hardly the first time Yennefer had made a disparaging comment on his smell. It wasn’t like there were many opportunities for a proper bath while he was travelling, and his job was more dirty than most. He did, however, think Yennefer was most likely correct. Her smell had the same similarities to Jaskier’s as the innkeeper who hadn’t wanted Jaskier to stay in his inn, and the barmaid that Jaskier had taken such offence to. 

“Did you learn anything else from them? Or just that they finally pulled their heads out of their asses?” Geralt asked.

“Your observation about touching more was corroborated. It’s apparently quite common, between alphas and omegas who spend a lot of time together.” Geralt noticed that Yennefer had leaned in quite close, although was not quite touching. “Omegas have also reported being unusually drawn to soft items, and alphas overly aggressive when an omega they spend a lot of time with is threatened in any way.” Yennefer’s face lit up with a mischievous smile, “Apparently there have been quite a few fist fights. Men and women more than a century old suddenly acting like impetuous teenagers, and forgetting their control of chaos, resorting to breaking each other’s noses.”

Geralt snorted, “There are a few sorcerers I would pay good money to see have their noses broken, or acting like stupid teenagers.”

Yennefer nodded in agreement, “It’s a pity I’ve missed them all so far.”

She let them both linger on the thought for a moment before standing and fetching a flyer from a pile of papers near the door. “King Niedamir is going to commission a hunt to rid himself of a dragon that has been terrorising some villages. The reward is well worth the effort. I want you to come with me.” 

“I don’t kill dragons. No treasure is worth dying for.” He didn’t mention that dragons were so intelligent, and so rare, that killing one was tantamount to murder.

“I didn’t say I was after what King Niedamir was offering. You can keep that to yourself, if you want it.”

“If you don’t want what the King is offering, what are you after?” Geralt was not nearly so foolish as to accept any job, even one from Yennefer, without knowing all the details.

“Dragons are said to have certain healing properties.” Yennefer’s hands tightened on the flyer.

“I thought the transformation that graduates of Aretuza go through healed all parts of you.” 

“At the cost of losing others, yes.” Yennefer said, tightly.

“Yennefer,” he said chidingly, “You can’t believe that old wives tale, about fresh dragon hearts healing infertility.”

“They’re not old wives tales.” She snapped.

“Besides,” he continued, “What could you have to offer a child?”

“They took my choice from me. I want it back.”

Geralt shook his head, and tried to hold her eyes, “The people who made us, made us sterile for a lot of reasons. One of the kinder ones is that our lives are not suited to a child.”

Yennefer’s lips narrowed and she looked away from him. He very nearly brought up his child surprise, and the reasons he had never gone to claim it, but bit the comment back at the last moment. 

He sighed, “No, Yennefer. I won’t help you do this to yourself.”

“Fine,” she said, voice tight. “If you’re so certain it wouldn’t work, what do you suggest? I summon another djinn? You ruined that for me as well.”

“Because it was working out for you so well, before I intervened.” Geralt scoffed. 

“It might have, if you hadn’t fucked it up!” Yennefer snapped.

“It was going to kill you!” 

“You can’t know that.”

“Yes, I can. A djinn cannot harm it’s master, and the only way I had to stop it from killing you was to bind your life to mine.”

Yennefer looked as though she had been slapped. “That’s why we can’t escape each other. None of this is real. It never has been.”

“Yes, it is.” Geralt insisted.

“It’s magic. How could we ever know what is real and what’s not.” She stood, tears in her eyes and rage firming her jaw. “You took my choice from me just as surely as Aretuza did.”

Geralt stood too, and reached a hand towards her, “I saved your life! Yen-”

“Get the fuck out of my house.”

By the time he met Jaskier at the spot they had agreed on, his anger and hurt had cooled slightly, but he was still short tempered when Jaskier bounded up to him.

“How did it go? Is there a hunt waiting for us?” He asked brightly. 

“No.” Geralt gathered up Roach’s reins and set off on the path, not turning to watch the bard follow. 

“Right then. Love all the details you’re giving me. Very helpful.”

***

That night, Geralt pushed them to keep moving until well after the sun had set, and Jaskier didn’t argue, watching the stiff way he held his shoulders, his tightly clenched jaw. So often after an encounter with Yennefer, Geralt was agitated, but this was worse than usual and Jaskier held his tongue on the topic; it had never done him any good in the past. 

The next day Geralt was less tense, but still insisted on pushing on when they came to a village in the middle of the day. As soon as it became clear there were no hunts available, Geralt hauled himself back onto Roach and didn’t leave time for Jaskier to do more than have a quick performance in front of the lunch crowd at the tavern. 

The next week followed the same pattern, until Jaskier began to suspect that Geralt was deliberately ensuring they were never near a town or village when the sun set. He could not be certain it was on purpose, as four of the towns they had travelled through had tried to hire Geralt to hunt various people they were sure were the culprit behind the spell that had affected everyone, and would not hear of any differently. Those towns would not have been safe to stay in, even had they wanted to, but that did not explain the other days. 

Finally they arrived in a town that was being plagued by a night wraith, and Jaskier was relieved to be able to stay the night at an inn. His relief was short-lived, since Geralt’s mood deteriorated as the sun sank below the horizon, and he became snappish and restless. By the time a crowd had gathered in the tavern Jaskier was happy to be away from him to begin his performance. Ordinarily, when Geralt’s oh so sunny personality began to grate in this way, Jaskier would look for a more congenial companion for however long they were in the area, or even head off by himself, to give them both a break, but with everything that had been happening, he did not dare. He particularly did not dare to find a temporary bedmate, given the likelihood that they would run screaming. The sooner Aretuza and Ban Ard found a solution to all this nonsense, the better.

From his place in the most well lit part of the tavern, Jaskier could just barely see Geralt in the dark corner he had wedged himself into, eyes flickering around, never settling on any one place or person, shoulders held stiff and tight. Jaskier made a point of having an ale sent over to him, but although he accepted the drink, Geralt barely touched it, hands clenched so tightly on it that the bard was sure that if he were closer he would be able to see his knuckles blanched white. 

The night grew later, and Jaskier wound down his performance, thanking his audience before taking his leave, and he wound his way through the tables to where Geralt was still sitting. He slid into the seat next to Geralt’s and let his long legs tangle with the witcher’s under the table.

“Not a bad crowd, considering.” He tipped his coin pouch out onto the table to count his take for the night. “Between this and your pay for the hunt, we should have enough to cover tonight’s expenses and also buy some more food for the road.”

Geralt grunted, but did not answer.

Near the bar, a middle aged woman with a weather worn face common to those who spent their lives working outside gave a disgruntled yell and staggered up from her chair. “I’ve had enough to drink when _I_ say I’ve had enough to drink, Ivan.”

“Regardless,” came the calm voice of the bartender, “I’ll not be selling you any more tonight, Tanja.”

Tanja scowled at him, but did not argue further, and Jaskier would not have paid her any more mind if she had not stumbled towards them instead of the door.

“The fuck you doing here, witcher?” she slurred. “Ain’t you supposed to be off killing the monster what killed Luca and Andre?”

Geralt’s eyes flicked in her direction, but he did not respond to her taunt. Jaskier clenched his fists but did not otherwise react, letting Geralt take the lead on dealing with her.

“I’m talking to you.” Her face was turning red, and the patrons at the nearby tables were turning to watch with interest. “Get the fuck out of here and go deal with whatever that monster is so we can be rid of you.”

Geralt’s eyes finally came to rest on her, and he tilted his head up to her as he answered, “Night wraiths don’t come out until midnight. There are hours still until I can hunt it.”

“Excuses,” she spat, “Even if it’s true, what are you doing here, with decent folk? How dare you sit here like you’re not about as much of a monster as it is. Poor Ivan will have to burn that chair once you’re gone, might taint the next poor bastard to sit in it.”

At that, Jaskier shot to his feet, his chair clattering to the floor at his speed, and a vicious growl cut off her tirade. All eyes in the tavern, even those who had not already been watching the confrontation, turned to Jaskier, who was looking down at himself, as surprised as anyone else at the sound that had come from him. 

“See!” Tanja shrieked, “Melitele only knows what the bard truly is!” 

Even those people who had been rolling their eyes at her dramatics seemed to be taking her more seriously, now that they had heard what they would consider evidence that she was correct, and the mood in the tavern was growing dangerous.

Geralt stood, pushing his chair back with a scrape of wood on wood. “The spell he’s under has naught to do with his association with me, but we’ll be on our way.” He tipped his head towards the bartender, “My thanks for your hospitality.”

Geralt had Jaskier bundled out the door before he could protest about letting a drunken bigot force them to leave. As they emerged into the cool night air Geralt’s shoulders seemed to relax, and he lost some of the tenseness he had been holding onto since they had walked into the tavern that afternoon. 

As Geralt led them towards the tree line, he turned to Jaskier and asked, “What the fuck was that?”

Jaskier gestured wildly back towards the tavern, “Did you hear what she was saying? I couldn’t let her just get _away_ with it!”

Geralt rolled his eyes, “Not asking why you were angry, what the fuck was the growl?”

Jaskier’s shoulders slumped a little, “I have no idea. I didn’t even know my vocal chords could make that sound, and I was pretty sure I knew everything my vocal chords can do.” He shot Geralt a wry grin, “Of course, I was pretty sure I knew everything my cock could do, and what do you know, it surprised me too, so.” He shrugged with fake nonchalance. It truly had been a relief to find out that the spell had been the cause of his changes, and that there wasn’t something wrong. Well, more wrong than anyone else affected, anyway. But his voice. His voice was everything. His livelihood, his passion, his source of music, his… his very being. 

They used the remaining time before Geralt had to fight the wraith to set up a simple camp within the tree line surrounding the town, and Jaskier settled down to sleep shortly before Geralt left. He woke shortly before dawn, when Geralt returned and stripped his armour off. Jaskier was settling back into sleep when Geralt lay down in his bedroll and seemed to relax for the first time since they had seen the town in the distance, and was asleep in moments. 

***

By the time Geralt rose the next day, the sun was high in the sky, and it was later still that he returned from fetching his payment. It was unsurprising that they did not reach another village by evening. What was surprising was that the next morning, Geralt did not wake Jaskier in his usual manner, impatient to be on the road. Jaskier woke naturally, some time after the sun had risen, to see Geralt seated by the remains of their camp fire, sharpening his blades. 

“You needed the sleep.” Geralt sheathed his knife and stood, beginning to break down their camp.

Jaskier watched for a moment, still prone, and decided to leave it for now. He had been far more tired in the past, with far more reason to need extra rest, but trying to press Geralt for information had never borne any fruit before, so he didn’t see why it would this time, either. Regardless, he resolved to get to the bottom of it.

He was even more surprised when, that evening, Geralt turned Roach’s head off the path towards a clearing much earlier than usual, well before the sun had set. 

Jaskier had expected that they would rise earlier than usual the next day, to make up for the lost travelling time, but yet again Geralt did not move to break camp until well into the morning.

He had woken with a jolt when he noticed the angle of the sunlight, and feared that Geralt had left without him for some reason, only to find the witcher shoving something into his bag, bedroll still laid out on the ground. 

Jaskier licked his lips nervously, “Not leaving yet?”

Geralt grunted, and continued rearranging his bags. 

When, in the mid-afternoon, they finally came to a village, Geralt’s demeanor changed, from the same slight wariness he usually held while travelling, to something much more tense. 

“What’s out there?” The bard asked, nervous. For Geralt to be this uptight without acting on it, there must be something more amiss than the usual bandits or wild animals. 

Geralt looked at him, eyebrows scrunched down in confusion. “Nothing.”

“There must be something, or you wouldn’t look like we’re about to be under attack.” Jaskier moved so that he was walking closer to Roach, but not so close that he would be in the way if Geralt had to draw one of his swords. 

Geralt made a disgruntled noise and turned his eyes back to scanning the horizon, “The village stinks.”

When they arrived, Jaskier quickly located the tavern, and made a beeline towards it. Geralt, he noted uneasily, followed behind him, rather than head off towards the notice board to look for a job, as he usually would. If Geralt did not explain his strange behaviour soon, Jaskier was going to have to find some way of forcing the conversation.

It only added to Jaskier’s worry when, rather than finding a dark, quiet corner to stay in while Jaskier performed, or retiring to their room, Geralt chose a seat quite close to where Jaskier was getting ready to entertain the crowd. 

“Was there something you needed?” Jaskier asked. 

“No.” He paused. “An ale.”

Jaskier huffed, but arranged for an ale to be brought to Geralt and caught the attention of the other patrons to begin his performance. 

Jaskier could feel the witcher’s yellow eyes on him the entire time, and he noted that Geralt only became more tense as the evening wore on. 

Geralt woke him with the dawn the next morning, which would have been reassuring if Geralt had not still been pacing when he had fallen asleep, and the bed beside him had not been cold, leaving Jaskier to conclude that the witcher had not slept at all. 

As the day wore on, and they left the village behind, Geralt’s muscles unclenched and he began replying occasionally to Jaskier’s attempts at conversation, as he usually did. For the first time in far too long, they did not make camp until just before sunset, and Jaskier concluded that whatever had been wrong with Geralt had passed, and he relaxed more when he was rudely awoken the next morning as the sun just barely began to peek over the horizon. 

Much to Jaskier’s consternation, though, near the middle of the day, Geralt turned Roach from the already faint path, and headed into the trees, towards some unknown destination. 

Jaskier jogged to catch up, pushing aside a branch in order to force his way in front of Roach without startling her. “Where are we going? You didn’t collect a contract for a hunt in that last village, which I know, because you didn’t let me out of your sight.” He crossed his arms and settled his weight back, trying to show that he didn’t intend to budge until he started to get some answers. 

Geralt shifted his weight on Roach’s back, and tried to urge her forwards, but she did not move, content to lip at the bard’s pockets, searching for treats. Jaskier gently pushed her nose away and waited for an answer.

Finally, Geralt let out a gust of air, “There’s a clearing near here. I’ve camped there before.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes and did not budge, “You’re missing the point. You’ve been acting strangely for days, Geralt.”

Geralt swung his leg over and dismounted, and for a moment Jaskier thought he was actually getting through to him. His moment of hope only made it more frustrating when Geralt used his new position to lead Roach around Jaskier and continue along a path only he knew. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier called plaintively, “Geralt, I’m worried about you.”

Geralt barely glanced over his shoulder, “I’m fine, Jaskier.”

“‘Fine’ he says,” Jaskier muttered, “Like he doesn’t say he’s fine when he’s got wounds that would kill a human.” The bard trailed behind, muttering to himself. 

An hour later, after hacking away at some branches that must have grown over whatever path it was that Geralt was following, they emerged in a clearing. Jaskier paused at the treeline to catch his breath. He would give it to the witcher, the clearing was stunning.

“Oh,” It was barely a gasp that passed the bard’s lips, “Oh, this is breathtaking. Geralt, I could write whole sonnets about just this place.” He ventured further into the clearing and turned on the spot to take in the whole space, arms outstretched and lute bouncing against his hip as he swung around. “The way the light comes through the leaves, making dappled patterns on the grass! And the way it looks through the leaves, it’s, it’s, it’s like that coloured glass they make in Toussaint.”

Geralt ignored Jaskier’s dramatics and walked around the edge of the clearing, seeming to be searching for something specific. Eventually he grunted in satisfaction and began pulling the bags off Roach’s back, leaving Roach tethered to a nearby tree with a long lead.

Jaskier trailed behind, still staring around the clearing, taking it all in, “That grass almost looks soft enough to sleep on all by itself, even!” He threw himself down onto the ground near where Geralt had unloaded the bags and winced. “Well. I did say that it _looks_ soft. Few rocks here and there, but that can be sorted before we lose the light.” He reached under himself and extracted a small, yet rather pointy, rock, then looked around. “Even the sounds are idyllic. A bubbling brook over that way, the peaceful calls of bonnie birds.”

Geralt, from where he was bent over, pulling something out of a bag, slanted a look at Jaskier through loose strands of his hair and said with a barely there smile, “It’s a river, not a brook.”

Jaskier flapped a hand dismissively, “River, brook, doesn't matter.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is where we earn the explicit rating.

The closer they came to the clearing Geralt remembered from a hunt several years back, the more the gradually creeping feeling of dread receded. He always had a sense of trepidation when he approached a new settlement; it was impossible to know how hostile they would be. But what he had been feeling over the past days was far more profound than mere trepidation. He felt the knotted muscles in his shoulders unwind the further they travelled from people, and being in a place that was so far from even any signs of humans made him more relaxed than he had been in weeks. 

The sun was still high in the sky, and it would be hours before there was any decent hunting to be had, so Geralt began setting up their camp. Most nights there was so little time left to set up a camp that he either left it to Jaskier or did the most cursory possible job, but he felt a strong urge to have things just so, and, since there was so much time available, he indulged it. He ignored Jaskier’s uneasy stare as he worked. Whatever it was that was upsetting the bard would undoubtedly be spoken of, at great length, when he chose to say something. Until then, Geralt would bask in the sensation of finally not feeling under threat. 

It also helped, Geralt mused as he searched for the perfect spot to lay out his bedroll, that Jaskier had still not stopped his monologue about the beauty of the space Geralt had chosen. If he liked it, perhaps it would add to the things Jaskier thought of fondly about their time together, and it might delay when he finally left. And he would leave, in the end. The only thing in question was if it would be because he finally realised how terrible it was for him to be around a witcher, simply getting older, or if it would be something far more terrible, and final. 

After finally finding an acceptable place for his bedroll, Geralt laid it out, running his hands over it to make sure it lay smooth and flat as he did so. While he worked, Jaskier wandered a short way into the trees, picking up firewood as had long since become their routine. Jaskier continued his monologue, making it easy for Geralt to keep track of where he had gone. It had been many years since he had last had to rescue the bard from getting lost near their camp, but it didn’t hurt to be cautious. Nevertheless, Geralt relaxed minutely each time Jaskier returned, arms laden with branches and twigs. 

Jaskier finished gathering enough firewood for the night well before Geralt had finished setting up his bedroll, arranging the blankets just so, and layering in the soft woolen blanket he had bought in Visima. He stood back to consider it while Jaskier dug the firepit, and while it was a much better sleeping arrangement than many he had endured over the years, there was something wrong with it that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. 

Jaskier made a futile effort to brush some of the dirt off his cuffs and knees before digging through their bags, finally emerging triumphantly with his bathing kit and a change of clothes. “Since we’re apparently staying for a while, I might as well take the opportunity to get properly clean. The river is that way, isn’t it?” 

Jaskier gestured vaguely into the trees, and Geralt reached out and aimed his hand further to the left, indicating where the river actually was. Jaskier walked into the forest with one last look over his shoulder that Geralt couldn’t interpret. 

While he was rummaging through his bags, a few items had fallen out, and Jaskier had only haphazardly tucked them back inside, leaving a shirtsleeve dangling, almost dragging in the dirt. Geralt moved to tuck the sleeve back inside, in the hopes of avoiding hearing Jaskier complaining about one of his few clean items of clothing being soiled before he could even wear it. Instead, without really thinking about it, he pulled the whole shirt out of the bag. He still only intended to fold it and return it, but as his fingers smoothed over the soft garment, he found he was reluctant to part with it. It just smelled so good, and was so lovely to touch. Surely if he borrowed it for just a little while, Jaskier wouldn’t notice or mind, he reassured himself as he tucked it away into the folds of his bedroll, that now seemed that much more right.

Jaskier must have found a particularly good place to bathe, and taken his time, because by the time Jaskier had returned, freshly bathed, Geralt had already gone hunting and returned with a brace of rabbits that he was cooking over the fire. 

As he walked into the clearing, Jaskier made a noise of disgust. “Did you have to get yourself filthy while you did that?”

Geralt tore his eyes from the way Jaskier’s still damp hair curled at the nape of his neck and grunted. “Do you want to eat, or not?”

Jaskier made a discontented sound and settled himself on a patch of grass. “As long as you clean up before you make everything else filthy as well.” He paused a moment, then continued, cautious. “That’s a lot of rabbit. Are we expecting company?”

Geralt gave him a strange look. “No.”

“Then _how_ are we going to eat all that?” Jaskier asked, exasperated.

“I was going to make jerky.” Geralt reached out and prodded the fire. 

“So we’re going to be here a while.” Jaskier said, voice tight. 

“Hmm.”

“And we couldn’t have stopped in a town instead, because…?” Jaskier let the end of his sentence dangle.

“Not safe.”

Jaskier made a sound of frustration. “What, exactly, has made every town for the last few weeks, ‘not safe’?”

Geralt hesitated. “Don’t know.”

“You don’t know.” Jaskier said flatly. “Have you considered the possibility that there’s nothing wrong with any of those towns, and you’re just paranoid?”

“No.”

“No. Just that. No explanation, no reason, just no.”

“No. Rather be paranoid than dead. My instincts have kept me alive this long.”

Jaskier scrubbed his hands over his face, and tried a different tack. “This _excessive_ paranoia has been stopping us from staying in towns long enough to pick up many hunts for you, and stopped me from playing almost entirely. It’s not going to keep you alive that much longer if it keeps getting out of hand.”

Geralt wanted the conversation to end. As long as they stayed here until it was safe to leave, there was no problem, and Jaskier needed to let it go. “It’s fine.” 

Jaskier screamed with frustration and pulled at his hair. “It’s not fine! You always say that! And it is rarely ever fine, and it’s never informative.” He jumped up and pointed an accusing finger at Geralt. “I didn’t want to do this, you have a small enough number of words that you use as it is, but it’s come to this. I’m banning the word ‘fine’.”

Geralt leaned back from Jaskier’s finger. “It’s… okay?”

Jaskier clenched his jaw and slowly exhaled. “I’m going to take a walk.”

Geralt watched helplessly as Jaskier stalked off. He couldn't explain it, but the thought of leaving this safe haven made his skin crawl, and he didn't know how to make Jaskier understand that. He sighed, and looked down at his still dirty hands. He couldn’t do anything to reassure Jaskier, but he could get himself clean, anyway. 

The further he walked from the camp he had painstakingly set up, the more tense he could feel himself growing. If leaving to hunt had had the same effect on him, he hadn’t noticed with most of his focus on his goal, but now all he had to occupy him was the perfectly normal sounds of the forest around him, and his own fear. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Jaskier was right. As he walked, though, he was able to separate whatever was making him feel like that from his other thoughts. It wasn’t overwhelming, but it took an effort of will to override what his instincts were telling him. 

He was able to finish the walk to the river, and bathe. On the way back to camp, he felt his steps speed up, his heart rate start to rise, and paused, taking deep breaths and, when he felt he was under control again, resumed the journey back. 

When he arrived, Jaskier was already there, usually sunny disposition dimmed as he poked at the fire. 

Geralt watched Jaskier for a moment before speaking. “You’re right. There is something wrong.”

Jaskier almost leapt into the air at Geralt’s sudden words. “Did that hurt to say?”

Geralt sent him a dark look and sat down next to Jaskier near the fire. “There is something wrong,” he repeated, “but I know my own mind. It does not control me.” He checked on the still slowly cooking rabbits to avoid looking at the bard. “Thank you.”

Jaskier looked at him questioningly.

“For worrying for me.”

Jaskier shifted his weight so that his shoulder pressed against Geralt’s. “Of course.”

Jaskier forgave so easily, and it always took Geralt’s breath away. It was at times like these that Geralt could barely bring himself to look at him, for fear that he would see how Jaskier felt shining out of him. As long as he didn’t look, didn’t _know_ , he could leave himself some small sliver of doubt, and maybe losing that feeling wouldn’t hurt quite so much. Everything about the bard was bright, from his clothing to his fiery anger and dazzling smiles, but Geralt suspected that the feeling that he was carefully not naming, not acknowledging, would be brilliant and beautiful. Even the edges of it hurt to look at, for fear of what it revealed, about Jaskier, yes, but also about Geralt. He couldn’t bear the thought of seeing it properly, acknowledging it, _having_ it, and then losing it. Better to never be quite certain, and not know what he was going to lose. 

Geralt cleared his throat and attempted to move the conversation to something less fraught. “I want to stay for another few days.”

Jaskier made a frustrated sound, “Geralt-”

“Because it’s safe, yes, but also to finish making the jerky, rest, and take advantage of the clean water nearby.”

Jaskier wrinkled his nose, “Yes, our clothes are becoming rather pungent, aren’t they?” He shrugged, “I’ll deal with it in the morning.”

Geralt grunted and settled in to watch the food cook. The only task he had to devote any attention to was waiting for the rabbit he had set closer to the heat of the fire to be ready to turn, so that it would be ready to eat that night, rather than in several days like the jerky he had started. Since there was little to occupy his mind, he let his attention drift. It was a rare occasion indeed that he felt safe enough to relax like that, rather than keeping at least part of his awareness on potential threats around him. 

It was only natural that, since Jaskier was the only other person there, his thoughts would drift to the bard. Jaskier had sprawled himself out, long legs relaxed and arms wrapped around his lute, strong fingers plucking idly at the strings, creating fragments of melodies that never resolved themselves into any one song. His hands would be warm against skin, and the fingers rough from calluses, and his fingers were so nimble and strong that- Geralt tore his eyes away and checked on the rabbit again. 

Jaskier played on, oblivious to Geralt’s distraction. The bard hadn’t bothered to lace up his doublet after his bath, and Geralt's eyes followed the line his open shirt collar made, revealing chest hair and smooth, unblemished skin. His muscles shifted subtly as he continued to play, and Geralt thought about how carefully Jaskier chose his clothing, to deceive the unwary onlooker into believing he was small, and delicate, and conceal the amount of strength that was in his shoulders and arms. 

His trousers, too, were carefully chosen to create the illusion that the bard was smaller than he truly was, the loose fabric concealed what Geralt knew were powerfully muscled legs. They had to be, to have been able to keep up with a witcher for years on end. Jaskier had one leg stretched out in front of him, and the other knee bent ever so slightly, creating a space between them large enough for a hand to- Geralt abruptly stood up. If he couldn’t trust his thoughts to remain on safe topics, he may as well try to get some sleep. 

Jaskier watched from his place by the fire, apparently still wary, but no longer alarmed as he had been. 

Sleep was a long time coming, and when it finally did, filled with dreams that Geralt did not dare dwell on when he woke. In the morning, he was uncharacteristically slow to rise, letting himself linger in the liminal space between waking and sleeping, not quite ready to let go of those fantasies and face reality, but no longer able to truly linger there, either. Dimly, he heard Jaskier rise and the soft sound of fabric against fabric as he gathered their things to be washed.

When he finally did allow himself to surface fully from sleep, Jaskier had already left, and taken most of the clothing with him. Geralt shifted in his bedroll and grimaced in disgust at the wet sensation in his trousers. It had been decades since he had woken in that sort of state, and to add indignity to embarrassment, despite what his sleeping body had clearly been up to, he was still desperately hard, and there was no indication that it was going to go away on its own. Geralt threw an arm across his eyes and groaned. Jaskier would be quite some time yet, and his trousers were already ruined, so surely there would be no harm in dealing with it?

His own touch was frustratingly lacking, and he was about to give up and resign himself to a long wait for things to settle down when he tossed his head in annoyance, teeth gritted. As he did, his movement dislodged the shirt of Jaskier’s that he had tucked away, and the sudden smell of the bard created a sudden surge of sensation that was enough to finally push him over the edge of what was possibly the least satisfying orgasm he had ever experienced. 

With a growl of frustration, Geralt hauled himself from his bedroll and cleaned himself off as best he could, cursing the increased difficulty of clean up, the problem compounded by some of the… fluids, having dried while he slept. He used a waterskin to wipe as much away as he could and resigned himself to feeling disgusting until he could have a proper bath. The thought of venturing down to the river, where Jaskier was washing their clothes was both unsettling and enticing, and he was so certain that both impulses were from whatever it was that had driven him away from towns the past few weeks that he was paralised with indecision. 

Before Geralt was able to act, Jaskier returned, arms laden with still damp clothes. 

Jaskier found a relatively clear patch of grass and dumped the pile, before grabbing a shirt and draping it over a nearby branch. “Help me hang these up, would you?” 

Geralt grunted, and, relieved to have something to occupy himself with, crossed the clearing to scoop up some of the clothes. He heard Jaskier’s intake of breath and realised that he had forgotten that, while before the spell, the bard would never have known about his morning activities, he now might as well have written it across his face. He closed his eyes, resigned to the humiliation. 

Jaskier’s eyebrows jumped up to his hairline, but all he said was, “You know, if you had wanted me to stay away for longer, you could have just asked.” 

Geralt grunted and busied himself with arranging a pair of trousers on a branch. 

It took far too little time for the two of them to have all their clothes draped over branches to dry, and once it was done, Geralt was left with nothing to occupy him. Ordinarily, on the rare occasions that there was no work that he could accomplish, Geralt would take the opportunity to meditate, but every time he tried to get comfortable, instead of drifting into a meditative state, his thoughts inevitably turned to his dreams from the night before. 

Jaskier had taken a notebook out of one of his bags, and was muttering to himself as he scribbled, hands becoming stained with ink as he wrote. Geralt noted that Jaskier had carefully rolled his sleeves up, revealing his forearms and protecting the lace cuffs from the ink that he was liberally splattering about in his excitement. 

Eventually, rather than continuing his futile attempts to meditate, Geralt hauled himself up and went to gather Roach’s tack. Even if he couldn’t focus enough to meditate, he should be able to at least condition some leather. Once he had gathered all the materials he would need in a convenient pile, Geralt paused to check on the jerky he had started the day before. As he prodded it, a piece fell into the fire, and Geralt swore and threw the stick he had been using into the fire, causing sparks to jump up, scorching more of the meat. “Fuck.”

Jaskier looked up from his composing and watched as Geralt stormed off towards the edge of the clearing before abruptly turning back and stalking to his pile of leather and throwing himself down next to it. The soothing familiarity of rubbing oils into leather calmed him initially, the repetitive motions absorbing in their simplicity. 

The peace was short-lived, however, with Jaksier still working on his song. “Gorgeous garotter, jury and judge,” he plucked at the strings of his lute as he repeated the same line, yet again, “Lovely garotter, gorgeous garotter. Lovely garotter? Geralt, what do you-”

The idea of being asked to contribute to the song that Jaskier would inevitably use to woo _someone else_ was intolerable. “Would you shut the fuck up?”

Jaskier tisked. “Touchy.” He glanced down at his notebook and licked his lips nervously. “You’ve been rather out of sorts, today.”

“Hmm.”

“I’m just saying. If you’re getting anxious here as well, we really do need to go back to Visima and see Yennefer.”

If Jaskier was so worried that he was the one suggesting that they go see Yennefer, he really needed to tell him. “It’s not-” Geralt searched for how to say it, and continued lamely, “that.”

Jaskier set his lute aside, and turned to face him. “Well then what is it?”

Geralt closed his eyes and turned his head away. “Leave it.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, gently, “we need to get you help, even if whatever it is, is making you feel like you can’t leave.”

Geralt growled, “I’m just really fucking horny, okay?”

A shocked laugh fell out of Jaskier’s mouth, “What?”

“So it’s nothing. I really am fine.” Geralt still couldn’t look at Jaskier. 

A rock hit Geralt on the side of his head, and he grabbed at the spot it struck, “Ow.”

Jaskier picked up another rock. “We banned that word, remember?”

“Arsehole.” Geralt glowered at Jaskier. 

Jaskier blew him a kiss, “And yet you love me anyway.”

Geralt gently tossed the rock back at him, and said, “It’s been constant since last night.”

“That cannot possibly be healthy. Why haven’t you, you know-” Jaskier made a gesture that might have been obscene, or might have been some sort of musical flourish. 

“I did!” Geralt’s eyes flickered uneasily around the clearing. “It didn’t work!”

“What do you mean by ‘didn’t work’?” Jaskier asked, “Because, you know, you’re nearly a century old, I don’t think it’s that unusual for men of your age to, ah, experience difficulty with… certain, ah, functions, but I’m sure that there are-”

“Not like that!” Geralt interrupted, “I,” Geralt copied Jaskier’s maybe-obscene gesture, “and everything _worked_ , it just didn’t _help_.”

“Definitely not healthy,” Jaskier mused. 

“I’m frustrated, that’s all. I’m-”

Jaskier held up his rock threateningly.

“I’m not in danger.” Geralt gave Jaskier a mock glower about the rock. 

Jaskier, for a wonder, let the silence linger for a moment. “So.” He said, after what was, for him, an extraordinarily long pause. “By ‘it didn’t help’, you mean that you were still horny afterwards, not that you couldn't-”

“Jaskier!”

Jaskier held up his hands defensively, “Just checking! Was there anything in particular that you’ve noticed has helped?”

Geralt tried to hold Jaskier’s gaze, and couldn’t. 

“Oh, ho ho ho! So there was!” Jaskier leaned forwards, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Well, come on then, let’s see if we can figure out something to relieve your stress.”

Geralt didn’t answer, but he couldn’t help the way his eyes slid to where Jaskier’s shirt was not quite concealed in his bedroll. Jaskier followed his look and his eyebrows jumped when he saw the lace peeking out. Geralt closed his eyes and tipped his head up, resigned to the teasing. 

Instead, Jaskier licked his lips and hesitated. Geralt heard Jaskier’s boots moving across the grass, but still startled at the light touch to the back of his hand. 

Much more quietly than usual, Jaskier said, “Let me help?”

Geralt looked at Jaskier, crouched in front of him, eyes wide and colour high in his cheeks. 

Jaskier drew in a deep breath, and continued in with a grin, “After all, I’ve never had any complaints.”

Geralt snorted, “You’ve had plenty of complaints, mostly from parents and spouses.”

“Ah, but never from my partners.” Jaskier flashed him a cocky smile.

“True.” Geralt conceded. He turned his hand over and caught Jaskier’s before he pulled away. Geralt drew in a shaky breath, and was flooded with the smell of him. The new, powerful scent that had been taunting him since the spell, and Jaskier’s base scent that he had been familiar with for more than twenty years as well. Geralt looked down at their entwined hands, both rough and calloused and strong in different ways, and came to a decision. 

He stood, using their joined hands to bring Jaskier with him and swayed forward to hide his face in Jaskier’s neck. “Please.”

He felt Jaskier’s breath catch as he spoke, and the ability to affect him with such a small thing was heady. 

Jaskier used his free hand to slide up under Geralt’s shirt to his waist, leaving a trail of goosebumps as he did, and it was Geralt’s turn to have his breath catch. 

Jaskier murmured into Geralt’s ear, “Let’s get a little more comfortable, hmm?”

Jaskier’s deft fingers made quick work of the buttons at the neckline of Geralt’s shirt, and before he had quite registered what the bard was up to, warm hands had slid up his back, caressing scarred and smooth skin alike, and taking black cloth with them. 

Geralt’s much less nimble fingers bunched in the finer linen of Jaskier’s shirt and pushed it up, but the bard became entangled when the rolled up sleeves caught, and trapped him with his hands above his head. Jaskier burst into giggles, and some of the tension eased. 

Once they were both divested of their shirts, Jaskier held Geralt by the shoulders and made a show of enjoying the view. Geralt returned the gesture and, emboldened by Jaskier’s frank approval, let his own hands run over Jaskier’s broad chest and noted the bard’s breath hitching as his sword callouses caught on his nipples, and the slight ticklish squirm as fingers ran lightly over ribs. 

Jaskier returned the gesture, ignoring the scars that so often distracted the witcher’s usual partners in favour of cataloguing his reactions. 

As pleasant as the slow exploration was, Geralt was getting impatient. He had been on edge for hours, and the teasing was becoming intolerable. He slid his hands around Jaskier’s chest to the smooth planes of his back, and ran his hands down until he found the bow that held up his trousers, plucking at it until it came free, and gravity took over, leaving Jaskier rather suddenly standing in only his smallclothes. 

Jaskier made a small, surprised noise before chuckling. “All right, all right, I get the picture.” With some of his usually hidden strength, the bard maneuvered them towards Geralt’s bedroll, and Geralt let himself be led. Once they were standing at the foot, Jaskier distracted the witcher by starting to undo the row of small buttons down the front of his trousers, and once he was thoroughly lost in the sensation of pressure and heat almost exactly where he wanted it, Jaskier hooked an ankle behind Geralt’s and gave him a solid shove, toppling him backwards. 

Geralt clamped his hands down on Jaskier’s torso and took him down with him and Jaskier only barely managed to keep his knees from landing on Geralt’s crotch and ending their encounter in a very unfortunate manner. 

Jaskier pulled back and saw the scowl on Geralt’s face, “How often do I get the chance to catch you off guard? I’m never going to get an opportunity like that again!”

“Hmm. No, you’re not.” Geralt agreed, and used his own newly acquired knowledge to run his thumbs over Jaskier’s nipples with just the right amount of pressure to cause the bard to let out a loud groan. 

After a bit more squirming, and taking full, shameless advantage of the ticklish places Geralt had noted, they both were fully divested of their clothing.

Jaskier smoothed his hands over Geralt’s thighs, pushing the hairs back, “How do you want to do this?”

Geralt was distracted by the sight of Jaskier’s body, bared shamelessly before him and it took a moment for the question to register. His mouth dried up at the thought of all the possibilities before him, and to delay having to make a decision, he pulled the bard up to lie on top of him. The weight felt delicious, and his thighs parted unconsciously as his hips thrust up to get more of the friction. 

Jaskier gasped wetly into his neck, “Oh, that’s how it is, is it?”

Geralt nodded, unable to find words, as Jaskier resumed sliding his hand up Geralt’s thigh. Jaskier’s hand paused as it drew near his buttocks, and Jaskier rolled slightly to the side, looking down with a frown. 

Geralt made a noise of protest as Jaskier moved. 

Jaskier patted at a pectoral soothingly, “Oh hush, I had just forgotten, that’s all. I knew you wanted this,” he gestured at Geralt’s very hard cock, “but it’s something else to get other confirmation as well.” He leaned in close, and whispered in Geralt’s ear as he ran his fingers higher, “You’re _really_ wet.”

Geralt tipped his head back and groaned. His fingers were digging into Jaskier’s arm. When had he grabbed him? 

“Get on with it.” His voice had deepened even further with the anticipation, and Jaskier seemed to approve, because he didn’t hesitate any further, a finger sliding up, and _in_. 

Jaskier’s finger was so close to being what Geralt wanted that it left him panting and whining. Geralt tossed his head back and squeezed Jaskier’s arm until he was sure it was going to leave bruises, but couldn’t summon the will to let go. 

“Oh Melitele, look at you,” Jaskier’s voice was hoarse, and he pressed himself closer, while twisting another finger in, watching as the movement made Gealt groan and push back towards him. 

Jaskier seemed content to continue like that indefinitely, but Geralt was quickly losing patience, and tipped the bard on to his back. 

Jaskier immediately pulled his hands away and put them up near his head, one hand glistening with slick, “No need to get rough, I’ll st-” Jaskier choked as Geralt threw a leg over his hips and grabbed at his hands, pulling the clean one to his own hip, and the other into his mouth. Jaskier’s words dissolved into an incoherent moan. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you? What a way to go, though.”

Geralt choked out, “Can I- Will you-” 

“Yes, yes, absolutely yes, fuck yes, fuu-” Jaskier’s jaw dropped open and he seemed to lose his words as Geralt slid onto his cock. It was powerful in a way that Geralt had never experienced before to be able to make Jaskier, who was so free with his words, and held being a wordsmith as a point of pride, lose the ability to form words at all. Geralt only had a moment to savour the feeling before his body drove him to move, and he was lost as well, chasing the satisfaction he knew was just out of reach. 

As Geralt moved, Jaskier clutched at his hips, his thighs, ran reverent hands over his waist, before finally coming to rest on his cock, and it took barely a touch before Geralt was coming, but just as before, the orgasm did not even take the edge off the desperate need for _more_. 

Jaskier rasped, “Did you really just-?”

Geralt’s hips did not even slow as he folded himself forwards, not sure what he needed, but wanting to be somehow closer to Jaskier. The bard ran soothing hands over Geralt’s back, and gathered the hair that had fallen in his face, pushing it out of the way. 

Voice still hoarse, Jaskier gasped out, “What do you need?”

Geralt just shook his head. If he knew what he needed, it would all be so much easier.

Jaskier’s hands suddenly clutched tighter at Geralt, “Geralt,” he managed, “Geralt, you need to stop.”

Geralt froze, cold washing over him. Had he hurt Jaskier somehow? Humans were so much more fragile than witchers, he could easily have done something to hurt him. 

Jaskier slung an arm over Geralt’s back and stopped him from pulling away, “Don’t you dare think whatever it is you’re thinking. I’m just-” he laughed awkwardly, “I’m close.”

Geralt relaxed slightly and pressed his face into Jaskier’s chest. “That’s what you stopped me for?”

Jaskier cuffed him over the head gently, “As I’m quite sure you’ve forgotten, there’s now a slight problem when I come. I’m quite sure you don’t want to deal with the knot I have.”

Geralt groaned. He was sure that embarrassment would be back after they were done, but right now he did not have room for it in his head. “I really, really do.” He started to move his hips again, but stopped when Jaskier grabbed at his hips. “What?”

“You’re sure?”

Geralt ground down, “Yes, _please_.”

Jaskier’s hips jumped and he turned his head to clamp his teeth down on Geralt’s shoulder as he started to move again. The slight pain made Geralt gasp and move faster, and it did not take long to regain the momentum they had lost with the interruption. 

In short order, Jaskier was gasping under him again, and digging bruises into his hips and thighs. The bard tossed his head back and scrabbled at Geralt’s sides, pulling him down as the bard’s mouth opened on a yell. 

The feeling of sudden fullness was enough to jolt Geralt into coming as well, and finally, _finally_ , it was enough. He had the satisfaction he had been futilely chasing for so long, and the relief and pleasure dragged a long, low groan out of him. 

It was long moments before either of them felt coherent enough to move, and when Geralt shifted, the sensation set off another, smaller orgasm and left him panting. They lay together, Jaskier idly running his fingers through Geralt’s hair until they had caught their breath. 

Jaskier eventually tapped Geralt on the side. “Not to interrupt your basking, love, but you weigh a _ton_.”

Geralt guiltily rolled off the bard and lay next to him. Jaskier didn’t seem to be in a hurry to get dressed or leave, so Geralt let himself enjoy the warmth of a shared bedroll, for as long as it lasted. 

It didn’t take long before Jaskier started to fidget, and Geralt levered himself up and gathered his clothes. He contemplated dressing, but looked down at the mess he was covered in, and started towards the river. 

Jaskier propped himself up on one elbow, “You’re just going to go for a jaunt in the nude? Not going to bother getting dressed at all?”

Geralt shrugged, “It’d just get any clothes dirty. Might as well wait until I’m clean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve never written anything even _close_ to that explicit, so I hope I did an okay job, and that I got the rating correct.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consequences are seen. Interpersonal consequences, as well as in the wider world.

Jaskier savoured the sight of Geralt’s shapely back as he walked into the trees and tried not to borrow trouble. It was enough to savour the memory of what he had just been granted, while his heart was still racing and his body singing, without worrying about the future quite yet. 

He wouldn’t soon be forgetting the way Geralt had looked, striking yellow eyes closed, and entirely focused on Jaskier and how he was making him feel. In the entire time that Jaskier had known him, Geralt had rarely allowed his attention to remain on only one thing, too wary of potential threats to allow it, and it had been heady to have all of that focused on what they were doing. 

Jaskier rubbed his fingertips together and remembered the way Geralt’s hair had felt when he’d gathered it up to move the sweaty strands away from Geralt’s face. It had been coarser than he’d expected, but hadn’t been able to hold his attention in favour of feeling the way the muscles in Geralt’s thighs had bunched as he’d moved, all that formidable strength held in check even at the height of his pleasure. And Geralt had been so distressed when he thought he might have hurt Jaskier. How it was that someone who had been treated so poorly, for so long, by so many people, had held on to that sort of compassion was beyond Jaskier.

Jaskier was determined not to worry about the future, because he wasn’t even sure what he should worry about. Should he worry that things would change between them? That they would no longer know how to relate to each other? Many an otherwise lovely friendship had been ruined by the introduction of greater intimacies. Or should he, perhaps, be worried that, after the gods only knew how many years, he had tipped his hand, and Geralt had finally realised how Jaskier felt? Oh bollocks, he’d called him ‘love’, if that didn’t make it obvious how he felt, there really was no helping Geralt.

Perhaps it would be best to go on pretending that he felt only simple friendship, and allow them plausible deniability. Although, he wasn’t sure he would be _able_ to go on ignoring his own feelings as he had been doing for so long. Jaskier should, perhaps, not have offered, but these past weeks it had been so hard, to watch Geralt struggling with something that neither of them understood, and the knowledge that he could maybe _help_ , combined with the temptation to share that with Geralt, had been too much. Jaskier wasn’t much known for exercising restraint in that arena, anyway. 

And here he was, worrying about the future, and the present moment was quite thoroughly ruined. Jaskier groaned and gave in to the inevitable, following Geralt’s lead and gathering his clothes to make the trek to the broad, shallow bank of the nearby river. 

By the time he reached the riverbank, Geralt was emerging from the water, and if Jaskier was under any illusions that what they had done had dampened any of his desire for Geralt, they were shattered at the sight of the witcher emerging from the slow flowing river, water sluicing off broad planes of muscle, the already fading bruises on his hips still clearly visible in the sunlight. Jaskier had a sudden, vivid memory of those same muscles tensing in pleasure and his mouth went dry leaving him quite uncharacteristically tongue tied. 

Jaskier plunged himself into the cool water before turning to take in the delightful sight of Geralt pulling his trousers on. “You know, as lovely as the rest of you is, your eyes are still-”

“Shut up, bard. I’m not one of your conquests to flatter into not minding when you fuck off in the morning.”

Jaskier spluttered, “I would never- I never pay a compliment that is not entirely true, you know! And besides,” to buy himself time to come to the correct phrasing, the right way to balance between not letting on the extent of his feelings for the witcher and not leaving Geralt with the impression that what they had shared had been commonplace, Jaskier ducked himself under the water to rinse, “You’ve been my dearest companion for twenty years. I would never just ‘fuck off in the morning’ when it comes to you, my dear.”

Geralt grunted, and did not bother to pull his shirt over his head as he turned to leave.

Jaskier watched him go, and, in spite of himself, resumed worrying about the future. 

***

Jaskier arrived back in camp to find Geralt staring contemplatively into the fire. He reached out a hand to trail over the witcher’s shoulder as he passed, and Geralt leaned away from the caress in a way he hadn’t done for more than a month. Jaskier pulled his hand back, stung, and retreated to the other side of their campsite. To distract himself, Jaskier pulled out his notebook. He should have expected Geralt’s reaction. They had known each other for so long, it should not have been a surprise that Geralt was pulling away after feeling so vulnerable, but it still hurt. 

In the morning, Jaskier woke to Geralt strapping the last of the packs onto Roach’s back, the fire long since gone cold and ashes scattered to prevent a stray ember from lighting something else on fire. 

Jaskier propped himself up on one elbow, “We’re leaving already? Why are we leaving already? I thought we were staying at least another day.”

Geralt grunted, and began to lead Roach from the clearing. Jaskier scrambled to stand up, gathering his lute and bag, thankful that the night had been warm and he had neglected to unpack his bedroll. 

Jaskier trailed after Geralt, following the barely there path back to the road, but when they reached it, Geralt turned away from Visima and towards the coast. 

“Ah, Geralt, Visima, and Yennefer, are that way.” Jaskier threw his arm out towards the path they had taken to reach the little clearing, that Jaskier despaired of ever finding again by himself. 

“Not going to Visima.” Geralt didn’t bother to turn around as he spoke. “Or to Yennefer.”

“What, you’re going to spend the rest of your life feeling like you’re about to be attacked?”

“It’s stopped.” 

Jaskier stopped in the middle of the road. “Were you going to tell me about this at all?”

“Just did.”

Jaskier sighed and then jogged to catch up, patting Roach on the neck when he came alongside her. “You know, Roach, you’re really going to have to start telling me things, because he’s not going to.” 

***

The rest of the day was spent travelling, and Geralt urged Roach to walk slightly faster than was his custom when he was travelling with Jaskier, to discourage him from making conversation. From the dark looks the bard shot him, Jaskier knew exactly what he was doing, and was unimpressed. Despite his vexation, Jaskier trailed after, and Geralt ignored him. To acknowledge him would be to react to him, and Geralt had no idea what to say, or how to act. He still felt raw, off balance, and it was easier, and safer, to push Jaskier away than try to figure out what to do. 

What they had done together felt immense, and important, but Geralt knew he was giving it far more significance than it truly deserved. He knew Jaskier felt for him, and felt deeply, but Jaskier felt deeply for all his partners. Geralt had no call to be thinking it was anything more than what Jaskier had said, an offer to aid a friend by doing something he was good at. Geralt felt a desperate need for distance, without which he was sure he would do something foolish, something that would lose him Jaskier’s easy friendship. 

As the sun began to sink towards the horizon, Geralt was finally able to detect the mingled smells of a village, and so, rather than making camp, they pressed on. When the village was only a short distance away, Geralt pulled Roach to a halt and dismounted, turning to Jaskier, finally. 

He cleared his throat awkwardly, “A few days walk south of here is one of the main roads to Oxenfurt.” 

Jaskier gave him a wary look, “Alright.”

Geralt couldn’t meet his eyes. “I’m sure there are plenty of caravans who would be glad to have you along.”

“I see.” Jaskier clenched his jaw. “You know, I’ve been pretty patient. Put up with your moodiness. But you’ve been acting like a right prick since yesterday, and I don’t deserve it.”

“No, you don’t.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened at Geralt’s agreement. 

Geralt continued, “You don’t deserve any of the shit that gets thrown at you for being connected with a witcher.”

Jaskier tilted his head defiantly, “We’ve been ‘connected’ for twenty years, don’t pretend it’s about that.”

Geralt squared his shoulders and loomed over Jaskier. “What is it that you think it’s about, then, bard?”

Jaskier didn’t back down. “You know perfectly well.” The bard deflated, then brushed past, heading for the village. “There’s no point, is there? Nothing I say or do will make any difference at all.” He sighed. “See you around, Geralt.”

Geralt clenched his fists as he watched the bard’s retreating back. He had gotten what he wanted, Jaskier leaving, so why did he feel like shit? He waited for a time, to give Jaskier a chance to enter the village separately from him. 

Before he had started to move, he heard shouts come from the village, and was unperturbed, until he realised they were not the usual joyful shouts that sometimes resulted from a bard entering a particularly isolated village. Instead, they were angry shouts, and Geralt groaned as he hurried down the hill. Trust Jaskier to have caused trouble so quickly. He may even have done so specifically to make things difficult for Geralt. 

By the time Geralt reached the first few houses, the angry crowd had moved on, taking Jaskier with them, and leaving behind the churned dirt road. He could hear in the distance the crowd’s dark murmuring and Jaskier’s increasingly strident protests. He quickly caught up to them, and it was immediately apparent that it wasn’t a crowd so much as a mob, and things had already gone very poorly. 

Jaskier’s voice had already reached much higher registers than he usually used while speaking, “Now, I’m sure we can work something out!”

Whatever Jaskier had done to offend them, this had gone more than far enough. Geralt spurred Roach ahead and pushed the crowd out of the way until he reached the front of the mob, where Jaskier was being restrained. His hands had been bound behind his back with a scrap of some sort of fabric, and several of the larger villagers were hauling him towards wherever they were headed. Geralt clutched at the reins and ignored the worry twisting in his gut, in favour of focusing on how to reach Jaskier. 

Geralt used the advantage of his added height from on top of Roach to kick away the closest of Jaskier’s assailants, who swore, and let go of the bard in favour of clutching his no-doubt broken nose. Jaskier used the distraction to yank himself out of one of the other men, but the last had too firm a grip on him, and Jaskier was too hampered by the tie around his wrists. 

“Let the bard go.” Geralt demanded, and urged Roach into the path of what must have been the leader. 

“We’re purging this village of these vile, unnatural impostors,” the leader pronounces, his spine straight and broad shoulders held stiffly, as though expecting an attack. 

Jaskier finally wrenched away from the last set of grasping hands, “I assure you, whoever you think I am imitating, I am not! I am-”

“Silence, demon!”

Geralt was loath to dismount in the middle of a mob, but there was no way Jaskier was going to be able to mount with his hands bound behind his back. His compromise was to lean low in the saddle and haul Jaskier over Roach’s back like a sack of flour. All the air gusted out of Jaskier in a rush, leaving him gasping.

“Ivan! Don’t let the demon escape!” The leader demanded.

The nearest villager lunged forward to wrap one hand around Jaskier’s ankle and tug, and would have pulled him from Roach’s back entirely if not for Geralt’s firm grip on the back of his doublet. Geralt kicked out again, in a desperate attempt to dislodge Ivan. The crowd was beginning to surround them, and if he didn’t get them out of there before they were entirely surrounded, he wasn’t sure he would be able to at all. Not without a bloodbath that would make Blaviken look calm and measured. 

A woman with the sort of muscular build that indicated a life helping in the fields was pushed forwards by the people behind her, almost pressed against Roach’s hindquarters. She gasped a little in surprise and then shrieked, “He’s one too!”

The nearest people drew back in horror, and Geralt felt a twisted sort of gratitude as he kicked Roach into a gallop. Without that step backwards, they might never have broken free. 

Jaskier scrabbled at the side of the saddle, in a vain attempt to stop himself from jolting around. Once the villagers were out of sight, although not out of hearing distance, Geralt pulled Roach to a halt and let Jaskier slide onto the ground. Jaskier sprawled in the grass, clutching at his ribs, for a long moment, long enough for Geralt to become concerned. The mob’s shouts were still distant, although coming closer. 

Jaskier eventually pushed himself upright, gingerly holding his ribs and wincing. “I think they might be brok-” Jaskier’s words cut off abruptly, his face going pale as he looked at something behind the witcher, “-oh _fuck_. Oh fuck, Geralt, we need to leave, _now_.” Jaskier scrambled to his feet, arm still tucked protectively around his chest, and Geralt looked behind himself.

The tree would have been beautiful, with its ancient, gnarled trunk, sturdy branches and abundant leaves, if not for the bodies. Now that he knew they were there, Geralt wondered how he had missed them, the smell alone should have alerted him, and the ropes they were hanging from creaked with every slight shift in the breeze. All four of them had their hands bound behind their backs with strips of fabric, and the ropes around their necks were dug in grotesquely. They were also, from the smell of them, all either alpha or omega. It was near impossible to tell who was alpha or omega, though, through the scent of decay. 

Geralt’s fists tightened on the reins, “Fuck.”

A villager crested the nearest hill and gave a shout, pointing in their direction, and Geralt pulled Jaskier in front of him into the saddle, the bard letting out a low hiss of pain as he did. 

Geralt urged Roach on far past when he would usually dismount and give her a break. When he finally did pull her back into a walk, she was blowing hard and clearly exhausted. He slid from the saddle and lifted an arm to help Jaskier down, but after Jaskier jerked away from his touch, pulled his hand back. 

As soon as Jaskier was on the ground, Geralt demanded, “What the fuck did you say to them, Jaskier?”

Jaskier’s face twisted with rage, “Say? You think I had time to _say_ anything to them? And after seeing that tree, do you really think I needed to?”

Geralt pulled back slightly in the face of Jaskier’s anger, “You must have. People like you. They always like you, until you fuck their wives.”

“You could smell them just as well as I could, better even. You know full well I didn’t need to have said anything.”

Geralt grunted, and couldn’t meet Jaskier’s eyes. “The next village will surely be better.”

“Are you kidding me? You’re still on that?”

“If people are going to take issue with you for being an alpha, being an alpha who travels with a witcher will only make things worse. People put up with you doing that before because you were harmless. If they think you’re threatening all by yourself, you won’t get that leeway any more.”

Jaskier scoffed, “Yes, I did so well by myself just now.”

Geralt grunted dismissively, “It was a remote village. They’re always less tolerant. Once we get to more well travelled roads, it will be better. But I won’t drag you down with me.”

“Because I’ll be treated so much better than you, and I’m just as capable of defending myself.” Jaskier gave a disgusted snort, “Don’t pretend like you’re trying to save me. You’re just scared.”

Geralt clenched his fists in frustration, “What exactly do you think I’m scared of?”

Jaskier seemed to let go of the anger he had been holding on to. “You really don’t know, do you? I should be more surprised than I am, but I have known you for an awfully long time.” He sighed. “When do you think was the last time someone saw you that vulnerable?” Before Geralt could answer Jaskier kept talking, “I don’t mean just sex. But actually vulnerable?”

Geralt frowned. “A few years back, a striga nearly ripped my throat out, and a sorceress saved me.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened, “And we’ll circle back around to why you never told me about _that_ , but, how long did you stick around after she saved you?”

“I left as soon as I could walk. Needed to get Roach.” He wasn’t sure where Jaskier was going with this.

“Exactly, you don’t usually have to face someone after you’ve been vulnerable in front of them.”

Geralt grunted.

Jaskier continued, “What you’re not considering is that nothing has to change, if you don’t want it to. We just have to continue like we have for the past oh, _twenty years_.” Jaskier attempted to throw his arms out dramatically and instead made a sound of pain and clutched at his ribs again.

Geralt grunted, then stepped forward. “Come on, we should set up camp, then I’ll have a look at your ribs. Roach can’t go any further tonight anyway.”

Geralt did the bare minimum to set up camp, not wanting to have to abandon too much of their gear in the event that the villagers were more determined than he had expected. As soon as the bedrolls were set up, and he was uncomfortably aware that he should have laundered his before setting out the day before, Geralt pulled out the kit he had gathered over the years, of human safe tinctures and ointments and such. 

Jaskier lowered himself to the ground near his own bedroll, cautious of his ribs, and Geralt frowned. The bard was already moving stiffly and slowly, which wasn’t a good sign, although if they were fortunate, he would only be suffering from some uncomfortable bruising. 

Jaskier was able to unbutton and pull off his own doublet with little trouble, but when he came to his shirt, struggled to twist enough to pull it off himself. Geralt reached to help, and was struck with the memory of doing much the same thing the day before, of revealing those broad shoulders and that hirsute chest, and of how Jaskier had reacted so enthusiastically to his touch. Any fond remembrances were cut short, though, by the mottled, ugly bruising that was already visible across Jaskier’s ribs in red and purple blotches. 

Geralt hadn’t dared light a fire, lest they lead the villagers to them, but the moonlight was enough for his enhanced vision to make out some swelling, and he listened carefully for the sound of bones shifting against each other that would indicate broken ribs. 

After a moment, he grunted in satisfaction, “They’re not broken, just bruised. It’ll hurt to breathe deeply for a few weeks, but as long as you don’t re-injure them, and you don’t get pneumonia from only taking shallow breaths, you’ll be fine.”

Jaskier let out a long gust of air, and winced. “Singing will be interesting for a while, I can see. As will falling asleep.”

Geralt hummed as he pulled out a jar of ointment that smelled strongly of cloves and some sort of flower. He scooped some out on his fingers and dabbed it on the edge of the bruise, causing Jaskier to twitch back. 

Geralt jerked his hand back, “I didn’t- I shouldn’t have-”

Jaskier reached for his ointment covered hand, “It was just cold, that’s all.” Jaskier gave him a wry grin, “And it’s rather sore, if you hadn’t noticed.”

Geralt reached out again more cautiously, and smoothed the ointment over the edge of the bruise, watching for any indication that his touch was unwelcome. Jaskier shifted his arm slightly to give him easier access, but otherwise didn’t react, seemingly content to watch Geralt and wait for him to be done. 

Geralt watched his hand as though mesmerised, as it traced its way over the skin, leaving behind a greasy trail that shone in the little light that was available, and left the hairs pressed down in its path. 

Sooner than Geralt had thought, the entire bruise was covered and he reluctantly pulled back to push the cork back into the top of the jar. “I should have been more careful.”

Jaskier snorted, “What, were you going to hang around to let that mob kill us both? My ribs will heal. We wouldn’t have healed from what they were going to do to us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was on track to have next week’s chapter written in time to go up on Sunday and still have a buffer of at least one chapter, but the pacing was awful, and I had to get rid of two days worth of writing and figure out a new plan, so while next week’s chapter will probably be on time (it’s almost finished), the week after will probably be late, because work is about to get crazy.


	6. Chapter 6

They spent the next two weeks skirting around any human settlements they found, not daring to come close enough to find out if the reception they received was an aberration or the new normal. They could not, however, avoid people forever. While Geralt might have been more or less content to continue to do so until forced back to civilisation by worn out supplies, Jaskier was slowly going mad with no one but an uncommunicative witcher and a horse to talk to. Honestly, some days Roach was the better conversationalist. 

Finally, one evening, after they had made camp, and Geralt had checked the progress of his healing ribs, Jaskier wandered to the top of the nearest hill to check was ahead, and caught a glimpse of a moderately sized town in the distance, and he put his foot down.

“My newest song is ready for a performance, I think. I need to test it out on an audience who does something other than make horse noises or say ‘hmm’.” Jaskier watched Geralt out of the corner of his eye as he spoke, in an attempt to gauge the amount of resistance he was going to have to combat. 

“Hmm.” Geralt frowned, but nodded. “Should check if there are any contracts posted, as well.”

Having made the decision did not make approaching the town any less nerve wracking. Well before the town was in sight, they encountered the first human they had seen in weeks, and Jaskier clutched at the strap of his lute case tightly, and noticed that Geralt had shifted his swords to be in easier reach.

The man appeared to be a farmer, with his hand pulled cart empty of wares. As he came around the bend, he seemed to catch sight of them, and slowed his walk, keeping a wary eye on Geralt. While Jaskier continued to be offended on Geralt’s behalf for attitudes like that, it was truly nothing new, and they would not know his true reaction until they were in smelling distance of each other. 

It felt to Jaskier as though each step only drove the tension higher, and the short distance between them seemed to stretch for miles. Jaskier wondered if he could write a song that created the same feeling. If he used the regular beat of their footsteps, and the melody would of course, need to reflect the rising tension. He was so caught up in his musings that he almost missed when the farmer drew level with them. 

Despite all Jaskier’s misgivings, because his ribs were still a mix of sickly green and yellow bruises, the only reaction they received as they passed each other was a slight inclination of the head, and the farmer’s continued wary attention on Geralt. 

With that, if not positive, then at least not any more negative than usual, reaction done with, Jaskier relaxed slightly. 

As they made their way closer to the town, they passed more and more travellers, some who were no more wary than the first had been, and others who, when they came within smelling range, spat on the ground as they passed. While that was less than encouraging, it was definitely an improvement over immediate attempted lynching, so they pressed on. 

It was easier than Jaskier had expected, to reach the town notice board. Most people didn’t impede a witcher, if not crossing to the other side of the street, at least moving out of the way. Ordinarily, it made it easy to follow in Geralt’s wake, or difficult to catch up, if the crowd had closed behind him. Now, _all_ of the townsfolk were avoiding Geralt, and a significant number of them were crossing the street to avoid Jaskier, as well. Jaskier tightened his grip on his lute case and lengthened his stride.

Jaskier peered at the notices, searching for anything that might prove lucrative. “There’s a notice about something that is ugh,” Jaskier scrunched up his nose, “dragging corpses away and stashing them somewhere. Anyone who has tried to get close has been added to the collection. Lovely.” 

Geralt grunted, “Probably ghouls. Worth a look.”

Jaskier clapped his hands together, “So, to the tavern to find some work for me, then?”

There had been a few occasions in recent years that simply introducing himself had been enough to procure a deal with tavern owners to allow him to perform, and despite the town’s overall frosty reception of them, Jaskier was optimistic about their chances of being at least given the opportunity to plead his case. Instead, he had barely stepped through the door, Geralt still tying Roach up outside, before the tavern owner had jerked his head up and scowled at him.

The man thumped the glass he had been cleaning down on the bar. “Out of here, we don’t serve the likes of you.” 

Jaskier gave him his most charming smile, “You misunderstand, as much as I’m sure I would enjoy patronising your lovely establishment, I’m here to make you an offer!”

The man was unmoved. “Don’t want anything from your kind.”

“Not even something that may earn you quite a lot of coin?”

“If you’re not gone by the time I reach the door, I’ll be throwing you out it.” He strode around the end of the bar and headed in Jaskier’s direction.

Jaskier held up his hands, “Alright, alright, I can tell where I’m not wanted,” he pushed his way back outside, still speaking, voice slightly shaky, “uncultured philistine, wouldn’t know good entertainment if it came up and bit him.”

Geralt looked up at Jaskier from where he had been doting on Roach, undoubtedly having heard the whole exchange. 

Jaskier sighed. “At least this town is big enough to have more than one tavern. Let’s try one of the others, eh?”

Geralt inclined his head and brushed his shoulder against Jaskier’s.

Jaskier did not even get fully inside the second tavern before he was being pushed back out the door by a large, unpleasant smelling man, and he did not stick around to argue. 

The third, and last, tavern was by far the most run down, paint flaking and furniture unstable looking. This time, at least, he wasn’t run off as soon as he showed his face. There were a few drunks scattered around the place, already deep in their cups, despite it being the early afternoon. 

The proprietor barely looked at him until he approached the bar. “We’ve got ale or we’ve got food.”

“And both of those sound just lovely. _I_ have a business proposition for you.”

The man sighed, “Well, what is it?”

“While I am sure a business such as this has quite the roaring trade by the time the evening hours roll in, I’m sure even your profits could be bolstered by having a famed bard performing here, drawing in even more customers.” Jaskier leaned across the bar towards him, smiling. 

The proprietor laughed, “‘Famed bard’ or not, you’re as like to drive customers away as draw them in, smelling like you do.”

Jaskier fixed his smile on his face, “I assure you that once I start playing tonight, they won’t care about trivial things like that. And people will hear me long before they smell me, so you’ll already have drawn in customers.”

The proprietor tilted his head to the side consideringly, “You may be right, at that. Alright, if you draw in more people than you drive away, you can stay. And if you fill all the seats, you can have a meal, as well.”

Jaskier beamed, “I look forward to my meal, then.”

“We’ll see.” The man looked dubious.

Jaskier exited the tavern smiling, that time, and allowed himself to bump gently against Geralt’s side as they walked. “That’s my work sorted, now we just have to sort out yours, and accommodations for the night.”

Geralt bumped back, and said, “You find us somewhere to sleep, and I’ll go talk to the alderman.”

When Geralt left, Jaskier took a deep breath and set off in search of an inn. The stares of the townsfolk were no more hostile than they had been before he was on his own, but they felt more threatening, without Geralt there to watch his back. 

He started with the closest inn, despite it looking as though it had seen better days. Several decades back. Given the reception he had while trying to find work in taverns in the nicer part of town, he didn’t see any point in even trying at one of the nicer places. The door was on its last legs, and there were no decorations to speak of, unless one counted the long dead remains of some flowers in a window box.

He stepped inside, avoiding a suspicious looking stain on the floor, and approached the woman behind a counter in the front room. “How much for a room for two, for one night?”

She gave him a look of disgust, “Doesn’t matter. I’ll not have people like you here.”

“My coin is as good as anyone else’s!” Jaskier protested.

“After how all of your kind were acting a couple of weeks ago, I might as well let animals in. The gods only know what you’d do to the room. No, you’ll not be staying here.” She crossed her arms. “Now leave, before I call the town guard to remove you.”

Jaskier held up his hands and backed out of the door. Once it had closed behind him, Jaskier leaned against the wall, hands clenched, and took a moment to steady his breathing, then hitched the strap for his lute case higher on his shoulder before heading back out into the street. 

As run down as the inn had been, there had been another one he had spotted on the way in, close to the tannery, and, due to the smell, most likely it was much cheaper. The people running it would likely be less concerned with how any of their guests smelled, as well. Although Melitele knew it would be rough on Geralt’s enhanced senses, it was still preferable to camping outside the town’s gates. 

As Jaskier traveled, the streets got narrower and more crowded, and the space left around him became more and more noticeable. Part of the appeal of towns was getting to rub shoulders with all sorts of different people, becoming part of the crowd, and then, when he chose to perform, connecting to the people around him in such a way as to transform the space he was in. Instead, he travelled in a bubble, people flinching away from him any time he got too close. 

At one point, a group of children gathered, watching him closely. Jaskier gave them a bright smile, and swung his lute around to play a few songs. People always reacted positively to entertaining children. Instead, an adult darted out of a nearby shop and pulled the closest child away, and one of the older children picked up a rock. Jaskier froze for a moment, and slowly pulled his lute back onto his shoulder. He had seen people react in just the same way to Geralt, and the situation had always ended in one of two ways; they were run out of town, rocks speeding their retreat, or Jaskier would diffuse the situation with cheerful banter and a total lack of fear of the witcher. The second clearly wasn't an option, so his only hope was that these people saw him as less threatening than a witcher. Ordinarily that would be a given, but now he was not so sure. 

Jaskier drew in a steady breath and let it out slowly. If he ran, as far as they were concerned, he would only be confirming their fears. Instead, he turned on his heel and walked steadily away, and kept walking until he was able to turn a corner out of sight. The first place he found was a small gap between buildings, barely wide enough to fit him, and partially hidden behind a barrel filled with cabbages. He slid down one wall, feet braced on the other, and shook.

When he came back to himself and was able to steady his breathing, the way out was blocked by two women, standing at the barrel of cabbages, picking through them and gossiping. 

“It’s only lucky that Herbert smelled him and ran him off. Imagine it, Matilda, if he hadn’t?” The woman sounded scandalised.

“Oh, I know,” the other woman, Matilda, answered, “With everything they got up to a couple of weeks ago, who knows what he might have done?”

The first woman leaned closer to her friend and said, “Did you hear about Norbert? One of them _killed_ him. His wife was one of them.” She continued, voice dark, “Although the way he treated her, if you ask me, he had it coming, poor girl.”

There was the sound of a gasp and then Matilda spoke again, “How did you not tell me this before, Eva!” A pause, then, “They got so violent, some of them. Over the smallest things. Can’t have people like that around children.”

Eva said, voice dark, “And the rest of them. I know you don’t have any near your house, you lucky thing, but my neighbour is one, and the things I heard him getting up to by himself. Refusing to leave the house is one thing, a bit strange, but not dangerous, but it was like he couldn’t help himself. Imagine someone with that little self control in _that_ regard around children. Terrible, just terrible.”

Matilda gasped again, “Thank goodness Herbert ran him off.”

The conversation seemed to peter off for a moment while they both dug through the barrel to find whatever they determined to be the best cabbage, before Matilda spoke again, “I heard that both Novigrad and Oxenfurt killed theirs, or drove them off, and I’m beginning to see why.”

“Really, we ought to follow suit, it would make things so much safer.”

Jaskier was frozen in his small space, barely daring to breathe. If anyone noticed him there, he wouldn’t be able to get to safety in time. Not with how suspicious people were. He stayed there for what felt like hours, until there was no one directly outside his little hiding space, before standing and furtively slipping off his brightly coloured doublet, to hopefully be less noticeable, and quietly stepping back out into the street. 

He didn’t dare continue towards the inn, instead making his way back to the tavern that had already agreed to allow him to play. Even if the inn had let them stay, and he was less sure that they would, given how much more hostile the people in this part of town were, it wouldn’t have been safe. 

***

Jaskier bowed at the crowd in front of him, “You are a wonderful audience, my friends,” he lied, “and after just a short break to wet my throat, I will return!”

He elbowed aside some moderately drunk patrons to put a few coins down on the bar and gave the proprietor a smug grin. “I’ll have an ale. And that free meal. There’s not a single seat left. I’d say I’ve earned that meal, wouldn’t you?”

The proprietor nodded, “I’d say you have.”

He turned to survey the room, searching the shadows for Geralt. Finally he spotted him, wedged into a dark corner with fewer people than would be expected, given how crowded the establishment was. Some of the chairs at the surrounding tables had been moved further away from him. Once the proprietor handed Jaskier his plate, made his way across the room, ignoring the protests of the people he shoved aside, and slid onto the bench beside Geralt, pressing close so he wouldn’t fall off the edge. 

Geralt sighed and moved across to give him more space. “So where are we sleeping tonight?”

Jaskier let Geralt take the roll from his plate and answered, “Making camp out of town. Nowhere was willing to let us stay.”

Geralt made a discontented noise, then used his bread to scoop up some of Jaskier’s stew. “I still have to deal with the ghoul tonight. You’ll have to set up camp, and I’ll join you after.”

Jaskier turned his head and lowered his voice, to make sure no one could listen in. “Stay out of the poorer part of town, if you can. They’re even more hostile, and from what I overheard, it’s a powder keg.” 

“Hmm.” Geralt leaned his weight more heavily on Jaskier’s shoulder. “Did something happen?” 

Jaskier let out a shuddery sigh, “No, no, nothing happened, but only through luck. Things could have gone very, very badly.” 

***

Jaskier spent a nerve wracking night at their small camp, waiting for Geralt to return. The ghouls he knew Geralt could take care of without any problem at all, but people were always more difficult. When Geralt strode into the camp, well after Jaskier should have been asleep, he finally let himself relax. 

Geralt let a bag that Jaskier didn’t care to examine too closely fall just beyond the edge of the firelight and came to sit next to the bard. Jaskier only barely restrained himself from turning his head and breathing in the scent of him. 

“I’ll collect the reward from the alderman in the morning, and we’ll leave.” Geralt said, “Best not to stay when tensions are so high.”

Jaskier nodded, sleepy now that he wasn’t on edge, and let himself at least lean on Geralt’s broad shoulder. 

He woke briefly in the night when Geralt pulled a blanket over them both, but only shifted to get more comfortable before falling back asleep.

Geralt woke him again, with the sun barely over the horizon, and Jaskier scowled at him and pulled the blanket over his head. Geralt jerked the blanket off him and folded it up.

“Are you serious right now?” Jaskier whined, “It was nearly morning when I got to sleep, and you’re waking me up at _dawn_?”

Geralt snorted, “It was nowhere near morning, not even midnight. And if you pack up the camp while I go see the alderman for my payment, we can be on our way before most of the town is even awake.”

Jaskier sat up with a groan, “Ugh, fine.”

***

Geralt watched Jaskier closely as they walked. He had never known the bard to not seek out any other travellers they encountered, but he had been almost shying away from them. He would greet them as he usually did, but not approach, and Geralt was at a loss for how to address the situation. 

Jaskier wasn’t behaving any differently than usual when they were alone. Geralt kept half an eye on him as he gestured dramatically and spun around to point at Geralt to emphasise some point that he was making and that Geralt honestly didn’t care enough about to listen to, and if he hadn’t seen the man almost casually put Geralt between himself and the last group of people who had crossed their path, he would think that there was nothing wrong. 

Geralt would ordinarily have simply ensured that they spent some time around other people, and let Jaskier sort himself out, Melitele knew that _Geralt_ didn’t have any ability to help with any problem involving other people, however, the last village they had approached had watched them both warily from a distance. Jaskier had made an attempt at striking up a conversation with some of the people they had purchased things from, but with every curled lip or alarmed reaction, Jaskier had withdrawn further, and the final straw had come when Geralt had tried to purchase a night at the inn. The villagers had reacted with horror, and only some fast talking on Jaskier’s part had stopped them from being stoned out of town. 

He was still brooding over the problem when a rider, pushing their horse too hard, pulled up as they approached. Incongruously, the beta woman seemed to relax as she took them in, and clumsily dismounted her still-prancing horse. She kept a tight hold of the reins as she approached, but it seemed to be more due to her poor horsemanship than fear. 

She had the beginnings of laugh lines around her eyes, and the sturdy build common in those who worked the land, and she smelled almost suspiciously like nothing but soap and horse. A human likely wouldn’t have noticed, but with a witcher’s sharper senses, it was immediately apparent that she had very carefully washed away any other scents. 

“Witcher! Thank goodness! We can’t pay much, but we need help, and can offer lodgings and food in exchange.” The woman sounded anxious, and pulled the reins closer to herself. Geralt cringed for the poor horse.

“Hmm.” A witcher could rarely afford to turn down any kind of work, and with the problems they had been having lately, Geralt could afford it even less than usual. “What kind of help?”

She sighed, “We lost nearly half our herd to a blight a few weeks ago. It was terrible, but we managed to save the others. We were so busy trying to save the rest of our herd that we were not able to properly dispose of the bodies of the poor creatures we lost.” Jaskier had been unusually quiet, but as the woman spoke, he had cautiously moved out from behind Roach. “While I’m sure disposing of the remains of so many cows is a difficult and unpleasant job, why is it that you need a witcher?”

“Once the other cows were recovering and we were able to go to try to deal with the remains, there were already… things there, that we dare not approach. From far away, they almost look like people, but as you get closer, it becomes clear that there is something terribly wrong. It almost looks as though they have no skin!”

“Hmm.” Geralt nodded, “It sounds like rotfiends, or some other necrophage. You were smart not to approach, they’d have killed you before you could run.”

The woman looked hopeful, “So you’ll help?”

Geralt nodded, and she smiled broadly.

“Oh thank goodness. And if you don’t mind me saying so, it’s a relief to find an alpha to help, rather than a group of betas. Marta and my husband, Pietro, would have had to stay hidden if I had brought back a group from the village.” She turned and after a moment of fumbling to direct her horse, started walking back the way she came, “You’re welcome to stay in the main house, if you like. We only have one guest bed, but I assume that’s not a problem?”

Jaskier cocked his head a little and asked, “What makes you say that?”

She shrugged, “Well, you smell so much alike that it seems unlikely that you’d object to staying in close quarters.”

Jaskier laughed, “Well, you’re not wrong.”

As soon as Jaskier laughed, Geralt felt some of the tension he had been carrying for days melt away. Hopefully a little time with some people who were not hostile was all Jaskier needed to lose the unnatural timidity he had been showing of late. 

It only took another hour before the woman, who had introduced herself as Stephanie, led them off the main road and down a well maintained track. It led through a small grove of trees, and led to a modest house on top of a hill that overlooked the surrounding area.

Stephanie called out as soon as the house was in sight, “Marta! Pietro! I’m back!”

As they approached the house, a man emerged from the front door while a woman leaned out of what must have been the kitchen window. 

“Stephanie! You’re back so quickly!” The man called as he strode over to pull her into a hug. As he came closer, it became apparent from his scent that he was either an alpha or an omega, the smells were too mingled to tell. After a brief moment, he let go and turned to the horse, exclaiming in dismay, “And oh, what have you done to poor Barnabus?”

He immediately turned to the horse Stephanie had been riding and ran his hands over his neck, cooing to him and then leading him towards a barn. 

Marta came strolling out the front door, and raised an eyebrow at Geralt and Jaskier before bumping hips with Stephanie and looping an arm around her waist, “You really hit the jackpot, didn’t you? Not just a witcher, but an alpha, too.”

Jaskier’s eyebrows scrunched together, “I don’t really think I’ll be much use against those rot-things.”

“Rotfiends.” Geralt corrected, “And I think she assumed I was the alpha.”

Marta looked down as her cheeks coloured. “I of all people shouldn’t have assumed.”

Jaskier grinned. “Ah, you’re the alpha of the two of you, aren’t you?”

She lifted her chin defiantly, “The three of us.”

“Oh ho!” Jaskier rocked up on his toes and rocked forward, “Good for you!”

Pietro came back from settling their gelding in the barn and headed directly to Roach, completely ignoring Geralt’s scowl. “Aren’t you a beauty?”

Roach tossed her head back and stamped a foot as he approached, but did not try to bite, which was as good as approval from her, and Geralt allowed the farmer to lead her away, while the women led them into the house.

***

It didn’t take long before Jaskier was sitting at the well-lit kitchen table, hands wrapped around a warm mug. 

Marta set another mug down in front of Geralt and said, “So you’ll be able to do something about those… things by tonight?”

Geralt grunted, “They’re most active at twilight, so I’ll go out then.”

Stephanie leaned forward, arms crossed in front of her on the table and asked Jaskier, “Could you maybe perform for us tonight? It’s just, we haven’t had any entertainment for so long, and it’s not likely we’ll be able to go into town again any time soon. Not with how things are going.” She traced the grain on the wooden table with her fingertip, “Well, I might, but Pietro and Marta can’t.”

Marta snorted, “I barely got out of there with my life. I have no intention of going back.”

Jaskier shrunk in on himself a little. He knew exactly what she was talking about. After a moment he breathed deep and straightened, putting on a cheerful smile. “Of course I’ll perform for you tonight. I’m sure you’ll be the most appreciative audience I’ve had in a long time.”

“You move around a lot, don’t you?” Stephanie asked cautiously, “Is it any better further east?”

Jaskier thought back to the mob that had nearly killed them both, “Ah, no, it’s really not. At least, not where we’ve been.”

Marta’s lips twisted bitterly. “Looks like Pietro and I will be hiding out here for the rest of our lives.”

“Have you heard what happened in Oxenfurt and Novigrad?” Stephanie asked.

Jaskier froze, “No, I- I haven’t heard anything. Nothing reliable, anyway.”

Geralt shifted slightly in his chair, and his leg brushed against Jaskier’s under the table.

“It was awful,” Stephanie said quietly, while Marta turned away to check on the stew. “People were already scared, and the Eternal Fire didn’t help.” She sighed, “We’ve heard such terrible things. I don’t know if anyone escaped.”

Jaskier swallowed hard. Never going back to Lettenhove was no loss; it had felt more like a prison than a home for years before he managed to escape for good. But Oxenfurt. Oxenfurt had been where he had _become_ Jaskier, not the frustrated and cowed Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove. Oxenfurt was freedom, and creativity, and joy. Oxenfurt was far more home than Lettenhove had ever been, and unless things drastically changed, he could never return. 

After a moment, Geralt cleared his throat and stood, “I need to get some things ready before the hunt.”

Jaskier brightened a little. “Oh? Which potions are you going to need?”

“None. Some explosives, though.” Geralt was already rummaging through his bag.

Jaskier made a dismayed noise, “Last time you used explosives, you came back with half your hair missing, and burns on your face.”

Geralt shot him a narrow eyed look, “Rotfiends explode anyway, no matter what you do. May as well take advantage of that.”

***

When Geralt trudged back to the house, not singed, but sadly covered in exploded bits of rotfiend, Jaskier stopped his song mid-way and Pietro halted him at the door.

“Don’t you dare track all that inside! I just cleaned these floors yesterday!” Pietro made a shoo-ing motion with his hands. “Go rinse that off in the creek, for Melitele’s sake! We’ll get a tub sorted to get you properly clean, but at least get rid of the worst of it before you come in!”

By the time Geralt returned, dripping wet and freshly cleaned armour in hand, there was a large tub set up in the kitchen in front of the fireplace. He could hear Pietro, Stephanie and Marta’s voices at the other end of the house, calm and cheerful, after having their rotfiend problem solved and a private concert from a well known bard. 

Jaskier had his feet propped up on the table and was idly plucking at his lute. When Geralt stepped into the room, he turned his head and his eyes crinkled at the corners slightly, but did not otherwise react. Geralt felt any remaining tension from the hunt slide off his shoulders, and he gently placed his armour on the table before pulling off his sopping clothes and leaving them draped over the back of a chair. 

He groaned as he sank into the steaming water and revelled in the warmth. He let his eyes slip closed and listened as Jaskier put his lute away in it’s hard travelling case and bustled about the room, spreading Geralt’s wet clothes out to his satisfaction and completed other sundry tasks that Geralt did not care to keep track of. 

Eventually, the water cooled to the point where it would be tolerable to humans, and Geralt begrudgingly began to search for a cloth to clean himself properly. Before he could do more than glance around the room, Jaskier leaned over the side of the tub and dipped a rag into the water.

“Melitele’s tits, Geralt, how did it get into your _ears_?” He said as he, less gently than Geralt would have preferred, scrubbed at the offending pieces of viscera. 

Geralt leaned away and irritably took the rag from Jaskier to do his own scrubbing. “I was paying more attention to not getting blown up than where the pieces went.”

Jaskier settled back into his chair and stretched. “Well, I’m glad you were able to get rid of that nasty pest problem. Nice folks, here. We haven’t seen anyone as pleasant in far too long.”

Geralt grunted, and Jaskier lapsed into silence again. Geralt enjoyed the peace, listening to the creak of the chair as Jaskier shifted his weight, the crackle of the fire and splashing water in the tub as he moved, Jaskier’s breath coming calm and even behind him. 

The water eventually cooled so much that Geralt sighed and heaved himself out of the tub, accepting the towel that Jaskier passed him. As he dried himself, Geralt said, “We ought to head south, away from both small villages and large cities for now.”

Jaskier sighed, “Yes, as hostile as they were, mid sized towns are still better than small villages, or what happened in Oxenfurt and Novigrad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it seems my prediction of work being crazy was underselling it. I've been working 12hours or more a day. So I have no idea when the next chapter will be. Hopefully not too long.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was much less late than I had expected, given that work is still crazy and my daughter has an ear infection, so we’ve not been getting much sleep. I have no idea when the next one will be done, but I am, as always, aiming for about a week.

It had been drizzling rain for a miserable three days, and Jaskier was almost ready to risk the hostility of a town for the chance to maybe stay in an inn, and be dry for a little while. Geralt had steered them towards an area he recalled having some caves when it became apparent that the rain was not going to let up any time soon. Jaskier was so sick of being damp that he was ready to fight any bears or other wildlife that might have taken shelter in the first cave they found, if Geralt didn’t get to it first. 

When they finally did find a cave that was large enough for both of them, it was bigger than either of them could have hoped for. Not only did they both fit, but it was wide to light a fire with space on either side of it to walk and lay things out. The cave disappeared into darkness behind them, further back than could be seen in the dim light of the overcast day, although the way sound echoed hinted at unseen depths.

“This is amazing.” Jaskier frowned, “Too amazing. Why isn’t it already occupied? There are all sorts of creatures who ought to be all over a place like this.”

Geralt shrugged. “Used to be a basilisk here.”

“And how,” Jaskier asked nervously, “do you know that there isn’t still a basilisk here?”

Geralt’s lips quirked slightly, “Because I killed it last year. While you were competing in that fair in Oxenfurt. They’re venomous though, and deadly enough that it’ll be awhile before the local wildlife dare venture closer.”

Jaskier relaxed and dropped his bag onto the smooth, stony ground. Now that it had been pointed out, he saw that there were scrapes in the rock, places it had been worn smooth, or gouged out with what looked like some sort of large, impossibly sharp object. 

All the nearby wood was beyond damp, so Geralt had to start the fire with the sustained use of igni, and Jaskier quickly set up more of the wet wood around the fire to dry, in the hopes that it would be dry enough to catch by the time they needed more fuel. 

While Geralt cared for Roach, Jaskier set about pulling every item they owned out of their packs. Three days of unrelenting rain had left not a single thing dry, and it was already beginning to smell rather suspect. More so than even Geralt’s usual. 

It was peaceful, and Jaskier was trying to decide if he should strip out of his wet clothes, or just stay in them until he had something dry to put on, when Geralt picked up his steel sword, but held it loose by his side. Roach’s head swung towards the entrance of the cave, her hind foot stamping irritably.

From outside the cave, Jaskier heard a male voice call out, “There’s a cave up ahead! A big one!”

As soon as the man had spoken, Geralt tightened his grip on his sword, and Jaskier swallowed hard. 

Another replied, “Oh thank fuck, maybe we can get dry.”

A woman’s voice was heard next, sharp and exasperated. “Yes, because I’m sure a cave like that will be unoccupied. _You_ can be the one to deal with whatever angry creature comes out of there when we invade its territory.”

The second man whined, “Oh, don’t be like that Hilde. Don’t you want to get out of this awful rain?”

From his place further into the cave, Jaskier could make out the vague shapes of a group of people, along with some horses. There was something strangely familiar about the second man’s voice that Jaskier could not quite put his finger on. 

A third man sighed, “If there’s something in there, we’ll just have to deal with it. I’m not staying out in this rain a moment longer than I have to.” 

The third man’s voice was familiar to Jaskier as well, and brought up vague memories of some of his wilder nights as a student. Had they perhaps attended Oxenfurt together?

The familiar voice of someone who might have been a fellow student once continued, “Victor, you approach the cave from the left, I’ll come at it from the right, and hopefully if there’s a bear or something in there, we’ll catch it by surprise.”

Geralt lowered his centre of gravity and braced himself for a fight, while Jaskier led Roach further into the cave, out of the way. At least, he thought unhappily, if they were discussing their plans so openly, they were only expecting animals, not people, so they were likely wildly unprepared for a witcher. 

Jaskier’s view of one side of the entrance was obscured by the bulk of Geralt’s shoulders, but he could clearly see the other side. A tall, dark haired man was approaching with nothing even resembling stealth. 

The figure paused as he came to the entrance of the cave. “There’s a fire in here,” he called back. 

A second woman’s voice answered, high and nervous. “If there are people, maybe we should just leave.”

The man at the entrance of the cave made a sound of frustration. “I’m not staying wet just because they’re likely to be assholes. There are six of us. We can deal with them.”

Geralt made a sound of amusement. “Not a sound strategic decision, announcing your numbers like that. And we have the more secure position.”

The man at the entrance jumped. Jaskier rolled his eyes at the man’s ineptitude. Clearly he was even more out of his element than the bard when it came to this fight. Although he certainly had been at least that bad when he started travelling with Geralt. 

The other man, who was far more stealthy than his companion, was creeping in from the other side, and peering at Geralt, who’s features were likely obscured by the firelight coming from behind him. Jaskier was just barely able to make out his sandy coloured hair, made paler by the beginnings of grey. 

Geralt turned his head slightly and spoke to the more stealthy man, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

The sandy haired man did not lower his sword, but answered, “And I don’t want to get hurt. I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement. The cave certainly looks big enough to share.”

One of the men who had hung back snorted, his silhouette the only thing Jaskier could make out through the rain. “We’ve got as much chance of coming to an agreement with him as we had with the last three villages we tried.” And there was still something so familiar about that voice, and Jaskier’s eyebrows furrowed as he tried to place it. 

“And what is it that those villages objected to?” Geralt asked, still braced for a fight. 

The dark haired man let his sword drop, out of surprise or out of his very obvious lack of combat experience was impossible to tell. “Can’t you smell it?”

Geralt shifted his weight more solidly to combat the other, clearly more experienced opponent, and answered, “Can’t smell shit in all this rain.”

The dark haired man tilted his head in concession, “I suppose you might not be able to, at that.” He tilted his chin up and straightened his shoulders, finally lifting his sword again, “Most of us are alphas or omegas.”

While Geralt did not let his sword drop, he relaxed his stance a little, “So are we.”

At that answer, the dark haired man sheathed his sword, and the man with the familiar voice came bounding forward. The sandy haired man reached out to grab him, preventing him from entering the cave, but he clearly was not anywhere near as worried, as he had let his sword drop as well, although not loosened his grip. 

As soon as he stepped closer, Jaskier made an exclamation of surprise, “Nilas! I knew I knew your voice!”

Nilas peered around Geralt and beamed when he saw Jaskier. “Jaskier! What are you doing here? I thought you were off adventuring with that witcher of yours.”

Jaksier laughed, “As unobservant of anything that’s not your chemistry as ever; I _am_ ‘off adventuring with that witcher of mine’.” Jaskier tipped his head towards Geralt. 

Nilas looked at Geralt for the first time and his eyebrows rose, “So you are.”

The sandy haired man finally sheathed his sword and rubbed at his forehead as though pained. Jaskier came around the fire and was finally able to get a clear look at him. “Oh! I know you too! You arrested me for inciting nakedness that one time.”

Geralt snorted and lowered his sword, “It’s nice to know you’re always essentially the same person, Jaskier.”

“We could leave now,” said the man Jaskier now recognised as Janusz, the head guardsman in Novigrad, “I’m sure being hung by that last village would be less painful than spending time with the both of you together, again. I deeply regret allowing you to accompany me to work when you were younger.”

Nilas clapped him on the shoulder, “Oh come on dad, it’s not like you can sully your reputation any further than you already have, absconding with a group of criminals like us. Besides, it was inevitable Jaskier and I would meet, and aren’t you glad he encouraged me to study enough to get into Oxenfurt on that scholarship?”

Janusz shook his head ruefully but didn’t answer. 

As more people joined them in the cave, Roach bared her teeth and stamped a foot, clearly unhappy at being crowded. It took some time and shuffling around to find the space, but the cave was deep, and eventually things were moved around enough that there was just barely enough room for everyone to have a place to sleep. The horses were tethered just barely inside the mouth of the cave, mostly out of the rain. 

The group of them turned out to be four men and two women, and, as the dark haired man had said, mostly alphas and omegas. Only Janusz was a beta, and had clearly left Novigrad either following or leading his son, Nilas. The other men were Ernst, who had spotted the cave originally, and who had spent the entire time they had been out of the rain fussing over the two horses they had with them, which had endeared him to Geralt, who was helping him, and Victor, the dark haired man who had approached the cave. The women were Josephine, her shirt and trousers still splattered with the paint she worked with, and Hilde, who, despite being drenched to the skin and dirty with weeks of travel, still looked somewhat put together. 

Jaskier was distracted from finding places to spread out wet material when he heard a scuffle near the fire. 

“The clothes need to be nearer the fire, so they dry faster.” It seemed that Victor had pushed the saddle that Ernst had carefully placed out of the way to replace it with a set of paint spattered trousers. 

“The saddles need to be nearer the fire, so they dry faster. Unless you want to lose the horses to sores on their back?” Ernst asked, a dark scowl on his face.

“It seems to me,” Victor had straightened to his full height, and was attempting, unsuccessfully, to loom over the taller, albeit weedier Ernst, “that we need dry clothes, so that _we_ do not get sores.”

“And what makes you an authority on what needs to dry first? Who decided you were a leader?” Ernst had tipped his chin up defiantly.

“Of course I’m a leader, I am a _viscount_!” Victor said, clearly exasperated.

Jaskier snorted, “Good for you! No one gives a shit.” He said, waiting until Victor had turned towards him indignantly before adding, “Although, you really should move the saddles back; putting wet leather that close to the fire will ruin it.”

Hilde, who had been helping him spread things out, arched an eyebrow at him, “Well done. Now they both resent you.”

Jaskier shrugged indifferently. He wasn’t about to let some sheltered noble who had never left his estate push people around, but he didn’t want to let these people’s situation get any worse than it already was, and it would if they ruined the saddles they had. 

Hilde shook her head at his attitude, but did not comment. 

***

Geralt watched warily while they spread everything out as well as they could, and they settled in to eat what meagre food they had to share. The only saving grace was the warmth of the fire, and Jaskier at least, seemed to be enjoying the company of more people than they had been safe around in a long time. Geralt had chosen a place where he could see the entire group, and rested his back against the cave wall, almost close enough to stretch out a leg and tap Jaskier’s back.

He let the conversations go on around him without attempting to participate. Nilas squabbled good-naturedly with his father about some of wild exploits he must have gotten up to as a teen, while Josephine spoke to Jaskier about professors in the arts department at Oxenfurt; her teachers and Jaskeir’s colleagues. Hilde attempted to draw both Victor and Ernst into conversation, but was not seeing much success. 

Eventually Jaskier and Josephine’s conversation came around to how they came to be travelling in the first place, and the others grew quiet to listen as well. 

“After the first day or so, I felt like I was going to die if I didn’t, um, get satisfaction. And nothing I was doing by myself worked.” She laughed uncomfortably, “And believe me, I tried.”

“It did stop, after like three days.” Nilas added. “Felt like three months, though. And even for a few days before _that_ , I could barely gather the will to leave my house. It just didn’t feel safe outside.”

Jaskier twisted around to meet Geralt’s eyes, and after an uncomfortable moment, Geralt turned away. At the time, it had felt, not urgent, but insistent, impossible to ignore. The thought that Jaskier had saved him from such indignancies, and loss of control, entirely accidentally, and simply through his kindness in offering to help, left Geralt feeling at a loss. To think that he owed him so much more than he had realised was deeply uncomfortable. 

Victor ran a hand through his hair, “Oh man, and I got super antsy. I thought I had a hair trigger temper when I was a teenager, but it had nothing on this. I nearly got into a fist fight with my s-sister’s fiance,” his voice faltered at the mention of his sister, and Josephine clasped his hand, but he continued as though nothing had happened, “at least, until she made it very clear she wanted him there.”

“Someone brought their horse back to the stable with a rock stuck in its hoof, and I did throw a punch.” Ernst added. 

Janusz nodded, “I can’t begin to tell you how many fights I had to break up, or send my officers to break up over those three days.”

Hilde finally spoke, “I think it was the fights, more than anything, that set them off.” She looked down at her well tended hands, “They might have simply shunned us, if it weren’t for all the fights.”

“We heard, in the broadest terms, what happened.” Jaskier said. “But we were nowhere near other people, then.”

Janusz made a sympathetic sound. “It must have been a rude shock to come back to civilisation and see how people were reacting, then.”

Geralt’s lips thinned unhappily, and Jaskier shuddered a little before answering. “You’re not wrong. That was nearly the end of me.”

Nilas, irreverent and crass, commented, “I can’t imagine what it must have been like, camping with a witcher going through heat like we were. With what I’ve heard about witchers and their endurance, it must have gone on forever! I’m pretty sure I only stopped because I got so exhausted my body just couldn’t keep it up any more.”

Geralt finally spoke up, “It ended fairly quickly, since I got some help.”

“Now, that is just not fair!” Nilas was nearly bouncing on his spot with his indignance, “How is it that even a witcher can get some and I can’t?”

Geralt’s mouth thinned and his eyes narrowed, but he did not otherwise react. Jaskier, on the other hand, seemed to take offense for him. 

“Why is it so surprising, then?” Jaskier glared at Nilas, seeming to dare him to say something stupid. 

“Well, you know, he’s fucking terrifying!” Nilas’ hand flung out in Geralt’s general direction. “He’s _huge_ , and has those freaky eyes, not to mention, he’s _wearing armour stained black with the blood of the monsters he’s killed_.”

Jaskier almost seemed to want to explode with his indignance, “How dare you! Where would you be if not for witchers getting rid of monsters that no human could ever _dream_ of being able to kill? And that ichor is a _highly_ valued, _expensive_ dye, I’ll have you know. It serves as both-”

Geralt cut him off, “Jaskier, it’s fine.” Something in him ached to hear Jaskier defend him so passionately, especially from someone it was clear he had known for even longer than he had known Geralt. He wanted to reach out and soothe that anger, pull Jaskier close, in the way he had somehow gotten used to, while travelling together, just the two of them. But he did not dare, not with so many people here. When had he gotten so comfortable with touching Jaskier, anyway? And now that Jaskier had other options for people to be around, people who he would be safe with, how long would it be before the bard chose to go his own way, and leave Geralt on his Path alone?

Jaskier turned towards Geralt, and the way his mouth pulled down at the corners showed how unhappy he was, “It’s not fine. He shouldn’t just-”

Geralt sighed. “Let it go.”

Jaskier finally subsided, but continued muttering to himself, too quietly for the humans around them to make out.

The larger conversation between the group had ended with Jaskier’s outburst, and there was a long period of relative silence, in which only the crackle of the fire and the quiet movements of the horses could be heard. 

Eventually, Victor stretched and said, “We should turn in. We’ve got lots to do and a long way to go, tomorrow.”

Ernst snorted, “Where exactly do you think we’re going? We’ve yet to find anywhere that won’t kill us as soon as they smell us. And what do you think we’re doing?”

Victor threw up his arms in exasperation, “We can’t just stay here forever!”

Hilde cut in, “Destination aside, if it’s still raining tomorrow, I, at least, am going nowhere.”

Geralt hummed, “Even if it’s still raining, you’ll have something to do. If you think I’m feeding all of you without any help hunting, you’re in for a nasty surprise.”

Ernst perked up, “Can you teach me?”

Geralt sighed, “Fine. I’m leaving at dawn. Don’t make me wait.”

“And if it’s not raining?” Victor interjected.

Josephine rolled her eyes and pulled him back down onto the ground beside her, “If it’s not still raining we’re still not going anywhere until all our stuff is dry. Settle down.”

***

When the rain finally stopped two days later, Jaskier did a final check to be sure everything was dry before he packed it away again. The last thing they needed was for mildew to grow inside their bags. On the other side of the cave the others were having some sort of hissed argument. 

“We don’t need-” Ernst exclaimed.

Nilas cut him off, voice flat “Yes, we do.”

Josephine sighed, “He’s right, Ernst. We’re running out of supplies, and while we have some money, we have no way to spend it. We won’t last much longer if nothing changes.”

Jaskier noticed that Geralt had been folding his bedroll for much longer than necessary, and that he was watching the group out of the corner of his eye. 

“I know how to hunt now, and Victor already knew, we can get by.” Ernst insisted.

Victor rolled his eyes, “The kind of hunting I know how to do, and the kind of hunting we’d have to do to sustain ourselves are very different. Also, you’re a rank amature.”

Janusz stepped in, putting a fatherly hand on Ernst’s shoulder, “Although I’m sure you’d do a wonderful job, we can’t live off meat alone. And we need to get somewhere we can live permanently, and we need help to do that.”

Ernst had an unhappy twist to his lips, but he threw up his hands and stepped back, retreating to his horses. 

There was a spate of whispering that both Jaskier and Geralt pretended to ignore while they settled the last of their bags on Roach’s back, Jaskier staying well back from her teeth. Over the years they had come to an agreement. He brushed her when Geralt was unable to, gave her apples and the occasional sugar cube, and she only bit him sometimes. 

Janusz cleared his throat from nearby, the rest of the group, minus Ernst, clustered together behind him, meticulously packing the last of their own items, and taking furtive glances.

“We have a business proposition for you.” The guardsman showed nothing less than his usual unflappable calm. 

Jaskier watched from over Roach’s back as Geralt inclined his head towards Janusz, but did not comment. 

The guardsman’s calm finally began to show some cracks, and he shifted his weight nervously and licked his lips before continuing. “You’re as aware as us that our situation is dire. If we can’t find somewhere that will accept us, we’re, well... We’re fucked, not to put too fine a point on it.”

“And what’s your proposal?” Geralt prompted.

Janusz rubbed the back of his neck, “We don’t have that much money, but between the six of us, we have some. We’d like to hire you, if we can. As a way to make our way safely to somewhere, anywhere, we can settle.”

Geralt watched him steadily for a moment, but as far as Jaskier was concerned, there was never any question of how he would answer.

Geralt swung himself atop Roach and finally said, “We’ll try our luck in Visima.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have just realised I have forgotten to link my tumblr. You can find me at [underwaterattribute](https://%5Bunderwaterattribute%5D.tumblr.com/).


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is very, very late. This chapter fought me tooth and nail, but it is a long one, so there’s some consolation. You might also notice that I have a final chapter count! Only the epilogue left to go.

Jaskier trotted to catch up with Roach, lute banging uncomfortably as he jogged, and slowed only when he was abreast with Geralt’s leg. The others were spread out along the path behind them, Ernst and Josephine leading their two horses. 

Once he had caught his breath, Jaskier asked, “Is there any particular reason we’re heading back to Visima? Only you’re not exactly known for your fondness of cities, and I would rather not return so soon, anyway.”

Geralt lifted an eyebrow, “Did you offend anyone that I need to know about, last time?” After a movement, he added, “Other than Yennefer?”

Jaskier sniffed, mock wounded, “The aspersions you cast on my character, really Geralt.” His face fell into a more serious expression, “But no, there’s no one after my blood in Visima, other than Yennefer.”

Geralt rolled his eyes good naturedly, and didn’t comment. 

“But really, Geralt, why _are_ we going back to Visima?” Jaskier asked. 

“Because Yennefer was, and maybe still is, there.” 

Jaskier tipped his head back in comprehension, “Ah, of course. She would never put up with anything that happened in Oxenfurt and Novigrad. If she’s still there, the city is at least neutral, if not friendly.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier snuck a look at Geralt’s profile. He had been withdrawn, even for him, since they had begun travelling with the others, and the bard was worried. Even having known him for twenty years, on occasion, Geralt was as opaque as he was when they first met. 

He didn’t get long to think about it before Nilas caught up with him. 

“Jaskier!” Nilas put his hand on Jaskier’s shoulder, “You know, we have been _wasting_ this opportunity.”

Jaskier snorted in amusement, “Dare I ask what that is?”

“We could recreate that thing we did with the ribbons and the squirrels, and there is absolutely nothing my dad could do to stop us this time.” He gestured vaguely at the trees lining the road, “And hey, lots of squirrels around, too!”

Geralt’s head whipped around, “You are absolutely not recreating the thing with the ribbons and the squirrels, what is wrong with you?”

“It’s a bit of harmless fun!” Nilas protested.

Jaskier made a dubious sound, “The mess it made, though.”

Nilas rolled his eyes, “You’re both spoil sports.”

Nilas did not seem to hold a grudge, though, because that evening, after they had set up the campfire and everyone was clustered around it, he still settled himself on the log next to Jaskier companionably, squeezing himself between Jaskier and Victor.

“Okay,” Josephine said, “So I’m a little confused.” She pointed at Jaskier, “I _know_ you’re a professor at Oxenfurt, or you were, because I took one of your classes.” Jaskier nodded, and Josephine continued, “And I know you met these two,” she gestured towards Nilas and Janusz, “because he,” she pointed at Janusz, “arrested you for ‘inciting nudity’ while you were a student and Nilas was a kid, which is a story I have got to hear, someday.”

“Correct on all counts.” Jaskier agreed.

“So how is it that you don’t look any older than Nilas?” She asked. The rest of the group listened with apparent interest. 

Jaskier stretched out his legs towards the fire, and noticed that Geralt was listening with just as much attention as everyone else. He supposed that the story had never come up, although it did surprise him that Geralt had never figured at least the main part of it himself. 

“The way my grandmother told me,” Jaskier began, “was that _her_ grandfather had run into a strange woman in the woods. Apparently, the way he told it was that she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and she asked him for some milk and honey.” 

Geralt sat up straighter and Jaskier smiled at him. It was unsurprising that a witcher would be able to figure all sorts of things out, just from that small piece of information. 

“My grandmother’s grandfather didn’t have any with him,” he continued, “but he told the woman that he would come back as soon as he could. And he actually did. That afternoon he came back and gave her the milk and honey. She ended up following him out of the woods and they were married within the month. My grandmother said he never looked a day older than he did that day, although since she obviously wasn’t around then, I don’t know how she would know.”

Ernst’s brows furrowed, “If he never got any older, is he still around?”

“Ah, no.” Jaskier grimaced, “He lived to the ripe old age of one hundred and seven, when one of his neighbours stoved his head in with a shovel, something about a chicken, I believe? Anyway, my grandmother’s grandmother disappeared shortly after that, also having never aged a day, and the neighbour died of some horrible wasting disease.” 

Geralt grunted, and nodded as though something had been confirmed for him. 

Jaskier wrapped up his story, “My whole family has been very long lived, since then.”

Janusz shook his head slightly, “That sounds like a bunch of bullshit, if you ask me.”

Jaskier laughed, “Maybe it is. But it’s the story I was told.”

Victor looked as though he was struggling to remember something, before he blurted out, “Lettenhove! That sounds like a story I heard about the family that the Earl de Lettenhove married into.”

Jaskier nodded, “Yes, exactly.”

Victor’s jaw dropped open, “But that would make you-”

Jaskier stood and performed a mocking bow, “Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove. But I prefer to go by Jaskier, for obvious reasons.”

Victor spluttered, but Nilas grinned at him and made a comment about unexpected depths. The conversation soon moved on, the rest of the group clearly as interested in Jaskier’s title as Jaskier himself; which is to say, not at all. 

As they were settling down in their bedrolls for sleep, Geralt murmured, “She was fae.”

Jaskier hummed, “Probably. Does it matter, though?”

Geralt grunted, and did not answer. 

***

Geralt glared at Nilas, the student’s arm wrapped around Jaskier’s shoulder as they walked. Since he had started escorting the group to Visima, it seemed that Jaskier was spending more and more time with his old friend. And why wouldn’t he? They had both studied at Oxenfurt, had more in common than a bard and a witcher ever could, and with a human, Jaskier would be able to live a much more normal life than he ever could following a witcher around. 

Geralt had felt some momentary hope, when he had learned that Jaskier was part fae- Jaskier would not die of old age, he would not lose him simply due to the passage of time. Although, he thought dourly, as he saw Jaskier trip over his own feet, stupidity was another matter entirely. But really, even knowing that Jaskier was going to be more long lived than he had anticipated, did not change anything. He was always going to grow tired of living on the road, of sleeping rough and being chased out of towns. What did it matter if it was because of old age or something else?

Geralt was drawn out of his maudlin thoughts by the sound of hoofbeats approaching. The sound was concerningly close, probably not more than one or two minutes of travel away. Even when Jaskier was at his most talkative he didn’t cover up the approach of another traveller as effectively as an extra six people and two horses. 

Almost too late, he realised that rather than one or two horses uncomfortably close, it was in fact a large group, clad in armour, further away. The distinctive sound of metal clashing against metal was what had given it away. Geralt pulled Roach to a halt and spun her around to face the others. 

“Into the trees, now,” he commanded.

Without missing a stride, Jaskier turned and headed into the trees, towards the thickest cluster that could be seen from the road. Victor and Ernst, however, baulked.

Victor crossed his arms and planted his feet, “Explain, and we’ll consider it.”

Geralt dismounted and began leading Roach into the trees after Jaskier, “There’s a group of soldiers heading this way. We need to not be here when they arrive.”

Victor nodded consideringly and followed Jaskier off the road. 

Ernst threw his hands up in exasperation, “Why are you so certain that they’re dangerous?”

“Are you stupid?” Josephine turned around and looked at him like he was crazy from where she was, most of the way off the road. “After the reception we got at the last few towns, do you really think they won’t be?”

Ernst scowled, “What’s the point of hiring a witcher if we just run and hide from the possibility of conflict?”

Hilde rolled her eyes at him from behind the tree she had already retreated to, “It would be a bloodbath, even if one person, as impressive as you might be,” she nodded in Geralt’s direction, “could even protect all of us in such an open area.”

Geralt grunted in agreement and added, “You’re not paying me enough for that, anyway.”

Jaskier bumped shoulders with him as he helped pulled some bags off Roach, for easier passage through the trees, and the bard added quietly, “You’d never knowingly put yourself in a position to have to kill that many people, no matter who was paying you.”

Ernst grumbled, but followed after it became clear that no one else was willing to risk a less than warm welcome by the approaching soldiers. 

Geralt pulled them to a halt once he deemed them far enough from the road to go unnoticed by the armoured group, and Ernst began his argument again.

“It’s not going to do us any good to act as though everyone is out to get us.” Ernst began, “If we just show people that we’re not dangerous, just different, they’ll understand.”

Geralt snorted, “You go on thinking that.”

“How would you know?” Ernst demanded

Geralt tipped his head and pursed his lips, “You don’t want to hear it, but people have seen me as different for nearly a hundred years. They are never going to accept you, and they will never stop being afraid of you.”

Ernst jerked his head back as though slapped, “That’s not true,” he whispered.

“Think what you like.” Gealt turned away. 

Jaskier leaned on Geralt’s back, and Geralt pressed into the reassuring weight.

***

During dinner that night, further into the woods than their usual, for safety, Jaskier chewed slowly on his stale bread. Across the fire, Nilas spoke to Victor, and leaned in towards him with a wicked grin. As soon as Nilas finished speaking, Victor reacted with a laugh that looked startled out of him. Well, that was interesting; he had not noticed those two becoming so companionable. 

He was distracted from speculating on his friend’s social interactions by Janusz clearing his throat to catch everyone’s attention. 

“I’m sure you’ve all noticed that our supplies are getting quite low,” the guardsman began. “We’re going to have to decide how we will restock.”

Ernst cocked his head in a confused manner, “We don’t have much money left, but surely we can just buy some? Maybe sell something, if we’re that short on money?”

Janusz sighed, “We are that short on money, actually, but that’s not the only problem.”

Victor snorted, “We would have to find someone willing to sell to us before money even became an issue. And if things are that tight, we can sell some of the jewelry Josephine stole from my estate.” He gave the artist a half amused look. Clearly, Jaskier thought, he had given up any grudge he might hold on the matter.

“It can’t be that hard to find someone willing to sell us things.” Josephine said, serenely ignoring the comment about theft. “They’d be making money off it; even if they don’t like us, surely they’d still sell to us to get our money.”

Geralt grunted, “Not in my experience. Mostly they’ve just tried to kill me and take my money that way.”

Nilas winced, “Well that’s grim. Thanks for that tidbit.”

Ernst looked a little like a kicked puppy, “We have to at least _try_.”

Janusz shrugged, “I’ll scrub myself down and go alone. They might think the amount of food I’ll have to buy is a little strange, but not strange enough to refuse to sell to me.”

***

When it came time for Janusz to leave for the village, Geralt could see that Nilas was barely able to hold himself together. His movements were jerky, and he pulled back from reaching towards his father three times that Geralt saw. The others were jumpy, but not to the same extent. After Janusz had disappeared out of sight through the trees, Jaskier stood up from where he had been leaning against Geralt’s side, and wandered fake casually across the clearing to jostle Nilas as he sat down next to him. 

“About that mead you were planning last winter,” Jaskier began, “with the apples and cinnamon in it.”

The omega nearly jumped out of his skin when Jaskier sat down, and continued tapping his fingers on his knee, but answered readily enough, “Oh, um, it, it tasted pretty good. The cinnamon was a complete waste of money though, couldn’t taste it at all.”

Geralt scowled down at the armour he was repairing and turned away from the conversation. He knew that it made far more sense for Jaskier to be interested in Nilas than in an uneducated witcher, but that did not mean it didn’t sting, or that he wanted to have to witness the first tentative steps of a relationship between them. To Jaskier, Geralt was a friend, a sometimes muse, but not a lover. It was unreasonable of him to wish otherwise. 

Geralt made quick work of the repairs before he left the campsite, muttering an excuse about hunting as he went. He stayed away as long as he could manage without raising an alarm. When he finally returned, it was almost dark, and the entire group was jumpy and nervous, still waiting for Janusz’s return. Jaskier, he noticed with a scowl, was wedged between Nilas and Josephine, regaling them with some sort of story, and flirting outrageously with both. 

As soon as he stepped into the clearing Jaskier turned to look at him with a smile, but Geralt busied himself with setting the meat to cook over the ashes of the fire. He saw, out of the corner of his eye, that Jaskier was trying to extricate himself from the group. 

Before Jaskier could do more than stand, Geralt heard the sound of an approaching horse, and someone walking on foot. 

“Janusz is nearly back,” Geralt announced, and Jaskier’s approach was cut off by the flurry of activity, as the others stood and rushed towards the road.

As soon as Janusz was visible, Nilas threw himself at his father and did not let go for a long moment. He then abruptly pulled back and asked, “So, what treasures did you bring us?”

Janusz smiled and started to pull the packs off the horse, “Fresh bread, a cooking pot that has seen better days, barley, and all the vegetables they would sell me with the money I had.”

“A cooking pot!” Hilde exclaimed, “Finally we can eat something that hasn’t been dried out by being cooked over ashes.” She paused, then turned to Geralt, “Not that you don’t do a wonderful job of it, just-”

Geralt cut her off, “I am aware that eating the same thing every night is not to everyone’s tastes.”

Finally everyone settled down with their food, and Jaskier started to make his way over to Geralt. The witcher tensed, not wanting to have to talk about anything Jaskier might bring up. The only things Geralt could think of that Jaskier might want to talk about were things like remaining with the group once they found somewhere to stay, because surely he would want to stay with people who were not hostile, and who so clearly thought he was charming?

“So it all went smoothly?” Hilde asked Janusz anxiously, “They didn’t get angry at all?”

Janusz shook his head, “I got some strange looks about how much food I was buying, but no one said anything about it. I did hear a rumour though, that might be worth looking into.”

“Well don’t just keep it to yourself,” Victor demanded, “what was it?”

“They were saying, with much disgust, that Lyria, or maybe Rivia, has more alphas and omegas than they do betas.” Janusz said.

Geralt added, “Lyria and Rivia are the same kingdom, now.”

“I guess you would know, _Geralt of Rivia_ ,” Nilas said with a grin.

Hilde and Josephine called out to Jaskier, insisting that he help the celebratory mood by providing some music for everyone to dance to, and Nilas joined in the cajoling, which saved Geralt from having to find an excuse to leave again. Jaskier gave Geralt a hard look before letting himself get swept away. 

***

Jaskier had woken more well rested than he had anticipated, and the sun was bright in a cloudless sky. That kind of start, Jaskier thought, only boded well for the rest of the day. The group was in high spirits, talking and laughing, and that was likely why Geralt did not hear the approaching wagon, and all the people with it. 

Without any warning or fanfare, they turned a corner and found themselves face to face with strangers for the first time in weeks. Both groups seemed equally taken aback, at first, and blinked at each other for a long moment. It seemed that the interaction would pass without incident, although no one dared relax until the others were out of sight. But it was not to be. As Ernst passed the newcomers by, just a little closer than the others had dared, one of the merchants curled his lip in disgust. 

“Do you know what you have among you?” The merchant called out.

Geralt, who had taken the lead, but dismounted Roach in order to walk more slowly than the others, drew his sword. 

“I know,” Geralt answered, “and since he is not among you, it is none of your concern.”

Jaskier urged Josephine and Victor forwards, the others already past the merchants’ wagon. Geralt would have to be the one to get Ernst out of there. 

The merchant spat at the ground, “They’re nothing more than animals, much like you, witcher. No wonder you’re content to keep such company. Animals and freaks, the lot of you.”

“Unless you intend to do something about it, you can keep your opinions to yourself.” Geralt said levelly. 

Jaskier watched, heart in his throat, as the merchant considered the two armed men he had with him, and the other, unarmed people in his group, before eyeing the witcher warily. “I suppose,” the merchant said slowly, “that I needn’t do anything, unless I hear of you polluting any good communities. If I do, there will be a reckoning, you understand.”

“Perfectly,” Geralt ground out. He waited in the path until their entire group was well past the merchant and all his people, before mounting Roach, sword still unsheathed. 

They were much more subdued after that, speaking in low voices, and staying much closer together than they had. Even Jaskier abandoned his customary place near the centre of the group to walk alongside Roach, loathe to be too far from Geralt. 

That evening, after they had eaten, and not dared light a fire, Hilde wrapped her arms around herself and muttered, “The sooner we get to Lyria, the better.”

***

By the time they reached the Mahakam mountains, they were all thoroughly sick of each other. Weeks with no other company had all of them snappish and irritated, and it was a rare day that some sort of argument didn’t break out. The only hope Geralt saw was in that, rather than fading away, the rumours Janusz would convey whenever he returned from scouting out villages became more persistent and credible as they approached Lyria. 

Jaskier had made sporadic attempts to catch Geralt alone during their journey, but time apart from everyone else was hard to come by, and Geralt made an effort to never present an opportunity. From the dark looks the bard was sending him, Geralt was sure Jaskier was aware of what he was doing, but the thought of being told that the bard would be staying with the others was more than he could bear, and he wanted to put it off for as long as he possibly could. 

Although Janusz leaving to go into villages had become somewhat routine, watching him disappear once again into the trees to investigate Aldersburg was as nerve wracking as the first time. What if he returned with news that it was no less hospitable there, than on the other side of the mountains? What if he did not return at all? Geralt ground his teeth and began to obsessively sharpen his swords again, desperate for something to do. 

Hours later, his head snapped up at the sound of approaching feet, and the others looked to him to confirm if they needed to flee or not. He held still until he heard Janusz’s quiet voice talking to the horse he had brought along, calm, but cheerful, and Geralt nodded. The others relaxed only slightly, still waiting for the news Janusz would bring. 

From the sound, every one of them was holding their breath when Janusz stepped into the clearing. When he smiled and nodded, Nilas nearly screamed in joy and leapt into his father’s arms, while Jospehine whooped and swung both Hilde and Jaskier into a spontaneous dance. Even Victor and Ernst, who had come near to killing each other out of sheer irritation, embraced. 

Despite the joy the previous day, when it came time to actually travel into Aldersburg, Geralt noticed a certain reluctance from the others. Or, perhaps not reluctance, but nervousness. Even Jaskier had checked over his bags at least three times, and was clutching at the strap to his lute case with white knuckled hands. It took longer than was their custom for everyone to be ready to go, and once they were, they stood about, looking to someone else to be the first to leave the safety of their campsite. 

Just as Geralt was about to growl and set off, without everyone else if necessary, Jaskier clapped his hands together decisively, and announced, “No point hanging about here.”

As though that had been the signal, the others fell into step behind him, finally making their way to the city. In less time than he had expected, they were at the gates, and most of the group paused, looking up at the thick walls and heavy wooden gates in front of them. Jaskier, however, walked through, swagger firmly in place and head held high. It was only decades of knowing him that let Geralt know he was as afraid as the others. The set of his shoulders, the slight stiffness of his stride, and the exact angle his elbows were positioned at told Geralt that, while Jaskier was putting on a good show of being unconcerned, he was, as the bard had so eloquently put it after being chased by a lord’s guards on one occasion, ‘bricking it’.

Geralt dismounted Roach and pushed through the thick crowds, reluctant to be parted from Jaskier by too much distance. He waited for the inevitable shouts and cries, for the people to draw back from one, or all of them and to have to try to extract them from the situation. But there was nothing, some curious eyes turned towards them, a few pulled back from a witcher in their midst, but in general, they were being treated with glorious indifference. The smell surrounding them was strong, layers upon layers of scents, most of them either alpha or omega, and from the way Hilde wrinkled her nose, even humans found it overwhelming. 

Once it had become clear that they were not going to be attacked by a mob, Jaskier spun around to beam at him, and Geralt could not help but to smile back. Even though this signaled the end of their journey, and would likely be one of the last days he travelled with Jaksier, he could not help but find the bard’s joy infectious. 

They barely had a moment to smile at each other before a merchant with a cart began swearing at Jaskier, telling him to “Get the fuck out of the middle of the road, you useless cock.”

In the time it took for Jaskier to scramble out of the cart’s way, the others had caught up with them.

“I know we’ve not two gulden to rub together, but what say we head to a tavern and I try to remedy that, shall well?” Jaskier asked, almost bouncing in excitement. 

The others were less enthusiastic, still looking around nervously, but eventually Janusz said, “We’ve nowhere else to be, so we might as well.”

Jaskier looked at him with his mouth twisted almost into a smile, “Thank you so much for your enthusiasm, I really do try.”

Jaskier led the way to a more wealthy area of town. Not, Geralt noted, the wealthiest, which was probably a good plan, given that none of them looked their best after so long spent on the road. 

Unlike the last time Jaskier had attempted to gain permission to perform in a tavern, it only took a moment of flattery and a quick round of bargaining for Jaskier to ingratiate himself thoroughly, and he wasted no time launching into a song. 

It didn’t take long before Jaskier’s playing had drawn a crowd, and despite wanting to avoid people as much as possible, when he had tried to leave, Hilde had hooked her arm through his and steered him towards a table at the back. Geralt was squeezed into a corner, with both Hilde and Ernst pressed tightly to his sides in order for the whole group to fit.

Janusz swiped a few empty mugs from a nearby table to put in front of them, saying, “Don’t want the owner to notice we’re taking up room without buying anything.”

“Dad!” Nilas exclaimed, “You rebel, you! I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Janusz looked back at him, eyebrows raised, “How did you think I caught you every time you were getting up to something?”

“Well, not _every_ time, there was that time that I was able to-” Nilas caught sight of the look on his father’s face and quickly added, “do nothing, yes, you definitely caught me every time.”

Victor coughed discreetly into his hand, poorly disguising a laugh. 

“Tomorrow we’re going to have to start asking around about jobs,” Ernst said, and turned to Janusz, “Have you heard about the reputations of any of the stables around here? I wouldn’t want to gain employment anywhere that doesn’t treat their horses right.”

Janusz shook his head, “I really only stuck around long enough yesterday to be sure that you wouldn’t all be attacked.” He sighed, “And I have no idea how I’m going to gain employment; I’m too old to be hired as a guardsman, and that is all I’ve ever been.”

Geralt interrupted, “Experience counts for a lot. And you didn’t leave Novigrad for dishonorable reasons. There are plenty of places that would be happy to hire someone with as many years of knowledge as you have.”

Janusz sighed again, “Perhaps.”

Nilas bumped Janusz shoulder with his own and said, “Don’t worry too much, worst comes to worst, you can move in with me. I should be able to get some sort of job; I have most of a degree in chemistry from Oxenfurt. This far east, and I’ll be one of the best qualified chemists around.”

Josephine groaned, “I’m going to have to go back to waiting tables, until I can get myself established as an artist.”

While the conversation continued around him, Geralt turned his attention back to Jaskier, and the way he was so clearly enjoying performing for a crowd again. At some point he had jumped up onto a table, and was still up there, coming dangerously close to knocking over someone’s drink. He caught Geralt’s eye over the heads of the crowd and sent him a quick wink before doing a small spin and leading the gathered people in a rendition of what was obviously a popular and well known song.

After a few more tunes, Jaskier informed his watchers that he would be taking a short break and gathered up the tips that had been thrown his way. After a brief stop at the bar, where it looked like he probably flirted outrageously with the barmaid, he wove through the crowd and deposited several drinks on the table, the barmaid following behind him with some more.

“Drink up!” Jaskier encouraged, still in high spirits, “The locals are being very generous today!” He took a large slurp from his own mug, and after looking for space at their table that just was not there, shrugged and draped himself over Ernst and Victor. “Do you all think you’ll be staying here?”

Josephine was the first to shake her head, “After what happened in Novigrad, I don’t think I could stand to live in a city again. It’s fine while I’m distracted, but the moment I try to relax, something reminds me of- Well, I just don’t think I could live here all the time.”

Hilde, Nilas and Victor were quick to agree, and Victor added tentatively, “Perhaps we should look for a smaller town? Or a village nearby?”

Nilas smiled in his direction and nodded, “That sounds reasonable.”

By evening, all of them were exhausted, even Jaskier, who had perhaps over done it with his performance, and continued for far longer than he should. They all stumbled back to where they had made camp the night before, since even with Jaskier’s performance they could not afford to spend that much money on accommodations, although they had indulged in food cooked by someone else. By the time the sun had set, everyone had their bedrolls spread out on the ground and were preparing to go to sleep, with the exception of Ernst, who was already snoring.

Geralt slipped away to check on the horses, not yet ready to sleep. All three of them were resting peacefully, although Roach lifted her head as he approached. 

“Hello Roach,” he muttered as he scratched her neck. She leaned towards him, but kept her back leg cocked, utterly relaxed.

Geralt heard Jaskier’s familiar footsteps behind him. After so long travelling together, he would probably recognise the sound of Jaskier approaching blind and half delirious. He sighed and leaned his head against Roach’s neck for a moment before turning to face the bard. 

Jaskier didn’t say anything for a long moment, just combed his fingers through Roach’s mane and began braiding. Geralt could feel the warmth of his body radiating out, tantalisingly close, but not quite touching. 

He had just begun to relax when Jaskier spoke, “You’ve been avoiding me.”

Geralt hummed, but did not speak.

“You know,” Jaskier said, voice bitter, “I have spent half my life with you. And you’re still trying to ditch me at the first opportunity. You’d think I’d learn.”

Geralt made a pained noise, “No, that’s not-”

“Don’t lie,” Jaskier interrupted, “you’re not very good at it.”

“I’m not trying to ditch you.” Geralt insisted. “You can hardly blame me for stepping back before you leave. Twenty years is a long time for witchers, too.”

“Before I leave?” Jaskier spluttered, “When have I said _anything_ about leaving?”

Geralt shook his head and looked away, “You didn’t have to. You’ve been enjoying reconnecting with Nilas so much, how could I ask you not to stay when we find somewhere safe? How can I ask you to not just leave him, but risk yourself by following me?”

Jaskier made a frustrated sound and pulled the witcher’s face towards him, forcing Geralt to look at him. “You’re not asking. I’m offering. I’m insisting, really. After all this time, I don’t know how to make you understand that I’m not just going to _leave_.” His voice broke at the end, and Geralt made a wordless noise of concern. 

“But _why_?” Geralt pleaded. He just didn’t understand. What possible reason could he have to stay? To endure the bad food, and sleeping rough, and hatred from villages and spending most of the year in remote areas, instead of in large city centres or grand courts, as he no doubt could with very little trying?

Jaskier leaned his forehead against Geralt’s and let out a shaky exhale. “I _love you_. You _idiot_.”

Geralt pulled back abruptly, eyes searching Jaskier’s face, “But just today you were flirting with Josephine, Nilas, that barmaid in the tavern.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes, “I like to flirt. And I like sex. Neither of those things mean that I don’t love you. It has never mattered who I fell into bed with, I’ve always come back to you, haven’t I?”

Geralt licked his lips and considered. Even when Jaskier had disappeared for days, or even weeks at a time, he had always returned, in the end. But, he caught himself before he began to hope, Jaskier had always seemed to genuinely care for his lovers, as well. Geralt was just who he came back to when it fell apart, never his first choice.

“You were not just _pretending_ to care for them.” Geralt said flatly. “I’m who you come to when the better options send you packing.”

“You’re right,” Jaskier said gently, “I wasn’t pretending. But I didn’t follow any of them across the continent for, and I will say this again, _twenty years_ , despite barely being acknowledged as a friend for most of them. It is possible to love more than one person at a time. It’s _you_ I choose to come back to.”

Geralt felt sure that at some point in the evening he must have stepped sideways into another realm, because what Jaskier was telling him did not feel real. He reached out a hand to place it on Jaskier’s broad shoulder, and when it felt solid and real, ran his palm over Jaskier’s neck and up to cup his jaw.

“You love me.” Geralt breathed, tentative and almost scared at the conclusion that it might actually be real.

“I love you.” Jaskier confirmed, “And I’m really feeling rather exposed, so if you could either let me down gently or retu-”

Geralt cut him off by placing a gentle kiss on his lips, before pulling back and saying with a tremulous smile, “You love me back.”

Jaskier huffed a small laugh, “I suppose that’s the closest you’ll get. I’ll take it. Never let it be said that I’m not an understanding and flexible man, in both senses of the word, if you catch my-”

Geralt rolled his eyes and cut off Jaskier’s babbling with a firmer kiss, “I love you. Now will you stop talking?”

Jaskier beamed at him, “Are you kidding? With that kind of reinforcement, you’ll be lucky if I ever stop, now.”

Hilde’s voice cut in, “It’s _great_ that you’ve sorted yourselves out, really, but we’re trying to sleep.”

Jaskier stifled a giggle into Geralt’s shirt, then led him back towards camp, any illusions of having a private conversation shattered. 

***

Jaskier woke with Geralt’s warmth pressed along his front and the scent of him heavy in his nose. He could scarcely believe he hadn’t dreamed the night before, but the tight grip Geralt had on the arm Jaskier had flung across his middle made it clear that it had been very real. 

Jaskier burrowed closer and considered going back to sleep. Before he could drift off again, Geralt’s voice interrupted him, low and amused, “I know you’re awake.”

“No I’m not,” Jaskier denied. 

Geralt huffed a laugh before he turned in their shared bedroll, coming nose to nose with Jaskier. He hesitated a moment, eyes flickering over Jaskier’s face, before swiftly kissed him and rose, taking the blankets with him. 

“Hey!” Jaskier scrambled to keep hold of the warm blankets, but the lingering warmth was gone, along with his reason for remaining in bed in the first place. 

Jaskier smiled from his place in the bed at Geralt as he walked away, and Nilas walked over and nudged him with his foot.

“Are you going to be insufferably smug, now?” Nilas asked.

Jaskier nodded, “For the foreseeable future.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Lambert no longer has Eskel’s horse.

Lambert swore viciously when he realised that some other witcher had gotten to the only contract in the region before him. Some fucker had seemingly taken every single contract east of the Makaham mountains, and Lambert was getting more and more pissed off. It had been a long, miserable couple of years, and this was just capping it off with even more shit. 

The spell that had been cast over the entire population of the continent had seemed to have driven everyone ever madder than usual, and that was _before_ all that nonsense with heats and ruts. Half the contracts he had been offered since then were nothing more than some poor bastard being blamed for it all, or some other poor bastard that a village wanted chased down for the terrible crime of having been turned into an alpha or omega. And it had only been worse whenever the omegas went into heat. Lambert hadn’t even bothered to head towards civilisation for the last fortnight. Added to all that was Geralt not having returned to Kaer Morhan, and not even having sent word, and you had the cherry on top of the pile of shit the last couple of years had been.

Lambert was preparing to bed down in a clearing in the forest outside Aldersburg, because with no fucking jobs, of course he was flat broke. He’d barely taken any of his bags off his horse’s back when one of the local lack-wits came ambling up to _start a conversation_ of all fucking things. 

“Afternoon,” said the slack jawed idiot who smelled of horses, “why are you setting up camp here? We’ve got a perfectly good inn in the village.”

Lambert sent him a filthy look and ostentatiously shifted both his swords, in the hopes that the nitwit in front of him would realise he was talking to a witcher and hightail it out of there. When that didn’t work, he finally answered, “Why the fuck do you think? Inns charge money.”

The dumbass shrugged nonchalantly and half pointed towards the village, “I’m sure someone would put you up anyway.”

“Have you failed to notice that I’m a witcher, you fool?” Lambert demanded.

The moron now looked at _him_ as though he were the stupid one, “Of course not. But honestly, if our village had a problem with witchers, Geralt wouldn’t spend his time between contracts there.”

“Are you telling me,” Lambert growled, “that that motherfucker is alive and well in fucking Lyria and hasn’t bothered to let anyone know?”

Lambert threw his bags back onto his horse while the jackass stammered and mumbled. Lambert finally interrupted the rambling, “Well? Lead the way.”

The village was pretty much like any other shit-hole village Lambert had ever travelled through, if with a few more curious stares and few less hostile ones. The villager who had been leading him finally came to a one-room house much like any of the others in the place and knocked at the door. 

After only a moment, none other than Geralt opened the door, and Lambert snapped, “You arsehole!” and pushed past him into the house.

Geralt sighed in an aggrieved manner and closed the door after him.

Lambert didn’t even have a chance to properly survey the one room before he wrinkled his nose in disgust, “Ugh, it smells like you had an orgy in here.”

“An orgy requires at least five people,” said a voice from behind Lambert, “We were three people short of that.”

Lambert spun around to face him, and saw a man in an undershirt and obnoxiously bright trousers, seated on the no doubt disgusting bed. Lambert demanded, “Who the fuck are you?”

“I think the better question is who the fuck are you, given that you’ve just barged into my house.” said the man, with far too little fear for a man seated in sword’s reach of an agitated witcher. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt said chidingly, but didn’t actually contradict him. 

Giving up trying to intimidate the man as a bad job, Lambert turned back to Geralt, “I would have thought you’d have more sense than to get involved in any nonsense with alphas and omegas.”

“I didn’t exactly have a choice,” Geralt answered dryly. 

“Oh.” Lambert was stumped for a moment before he pulled back his fist and thumped Geralt as hard as he could on the shoulder, making him grunt, “That was for not sending word that you were alive.”

Geralt scowled at him while he rubbed his shoulder, “How was I supposed to do that, Lambert?”

Lambert’s reply of ‘ _You should have figured it out_ ’ was drowned out by the man by the bed exclaiming, “Oh! _Lambert!_ He’s as much of an arsehole as you’ve always said.”

Lambert couldn’t help but laugh. Jaskier was at least utterly fearless. 

Lambert sat down on the closest of the two chairs in the room and kicked his feet up on the table. “What have you been doing, other than letting us think you were dead?” He might be amused by the sheer balls on Geralt’s fling, but he wasn’t going to let that go so easily.

Geralt pulled out the other chair and sat, pushing Lambert’s feet down as he did, “We eat off that, you dick. And we’ve not been able to make it far out of Lyria and Rivia. Some parts of Aedirn aren’t so bad, but we can’t show our faces in Cintra at all.”

As Geralt spoke, Jaskier walked past and trailed his hand absently over Geralt’s shoulder as he went. Geralt’s only reaction had been to reach up and clasp his hand as he passed. Huh. Maybe it was a bit more serious than a fling. 

Lambert was a bit put out that Geralt was ignoring him completely, actually, in favour of watching fondly as the other man as he pulled on a doublet that was just as obnoxiously bright as his trousers. 

Lambert kicked Geralt’s foot, “I haven’t seen you in years, and all you want to do is stare at your omega you can see whenever?”

Jaskier coughed into his fist discreetly before scooping up a lute that had been propped in a corner. 

Geralt huffed a small laugh, “He’s not an omega.”

Lambert sat up straighter, “The fuck he’s not! I can smell that one of you is an omega, and like hell it’s you.”

Geralt shrugged, “Think what you like. But we’d definitely know better than you what we have in our trousers.”

Lambert shuddered, “Let’s keep it that way, yeah?”

Jaskier sauntered over to Geralt and trailed a hand over his shoulder before saying, “I promised Hilde I would go see her before I went to perform this evening. She was talking about a new scent she had created that might cover up the smell of being alpha or omega.”

Geralt grunted in acknowledgement, and Lambert almost breathed a sigh of relief at him acting like the broody, uncommunicative bastard he always was, until he reached out to pull Jaskier down into a kiss. 

Geralt smirked at Lambert after Jaskier had ambled out of the house.

Lambert shook his head. You think you know someone, he thought, and all it takes to throw everything out the window is just one little curse. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you have read Capriccio, it is very important to me (and not at all important to the plot) that you know that the mage who screwed up was Reynard. 
> 
> Geralt is an omega and Jaskier and Yennefer are alphas.


End file.
